Weighing In: Losing to Gain
by HEAR
Summary: *EXPANSION OF THE ONE-SHOT* Overweight and under-appreciated, Bella has stalled at life. When the chance arises to compete on America's favorite weight loss game show, will she take the opportunity to change her life and find love in the process? AH
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is an expansion of the one-shot of the same name. Some, but not all, of the scenes from the one-shot will appear later on. For these first few chapters I'm rewinding a bit and taking them back in time. Oh, and I'm wordy. Sorry.

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. The rest comes from the gelatinous recesses of my mind. No copying, translating or reproduction of this story is allowed without my express written consent.

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**~*…Edward...*~**

I was running through the dense vegetation of a forest teeming with life as its occupants flitted, crawled, slithered, and inched along their way. The scent of moss, trees, and soil converged to create a rich fragrance that perfumed the air. Each exhaled breath condensed into a small cloud of fog as both the mist in the air around me and dewdrops from the surrounding foliage blanketed my skin with a thin sheen of moisture.

My leg muscles contracted and relaxed in a steady rhythm as I continued to push my body forward. Long, thick branches of brown and green lashed out, whipping at my face, arms and legs as I sped by them. Not to be outdone, the forest floor seemed eager to join in the assault as vines and fallen branches conspired to trip me with every up and down motion of my feet. My adrenaline was pumping, but not just because of the effort my body was exerting as I pushed myself onward at an increasingly faster pace. I was searching frantically for someone, anyone without the slightest hint of where I was and which way I needed to go. I was alone and gripped by the fear that I would remain that way, racing through the thick undergrowth of the forest with no clear direction, reason, or purpose. No matter which direction I turned, endless groupings of trees greeted me as the forest stretched on in perpetuity. I saw no way out but I refused to stop trying.

It was clear from the way the green of the forest began to deepen in hue, shedding its vibrancy, that the sun had begun its impatient descent. It became increasingly harder for me to catch my breath and eventually, I slowed my pace, finally coming to a complete stop and leaning on a nearby tree for support. My legs felt numb from the exertion, and for a moment, I thought they might give out on me. As I bent forward, gripping my knees as I attempted to catch my breath, the sight of my legs caused my breath to hitch. Instead of the sun-tanned skin and lean muscular legs I was expecting to see, I saw the pale skin and thick calves of my younger years. I stood up, fully appraising myself as confusion clouded my brain. Each breath was now coming in gasps as I struggled to calm my racing heart and slow the rate of my breathing all to no avail. Suddenly, in the distance, the tinkling sound of classical music began sifting through the mist, carrying its way to my ears.

_Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune? Why was Debussy playing in the middle of the forest?_

Awareness began to filter into my subconscious as I awoke, grudgingly lifting my head off my pillow as I stretched my arm out, blindly feeling around my nightstand for my cell phone as the sound of my ringtone continued reverberating in my ears.

"Hello?"

"You sound like shit, Edward. How late were you up?"

I rolled over onto my back, throwing my left arm over my eyes before clearing my throat.

"Late. Good morning to you too, Rosalie. Why are you calling me so early?"

"Uh, Edward, it's one o'clock in the afternoon, and I'm serving as your personal wake-up call today. Be proud, prettyboy, you're in a privileged class. Men all over the world would die for the chance to wake up to the sound of my voice."

I sighed in exhaustion, still trying to shake off the last remnants of my restless sleep. I wasn't caffeinated enough to sufficiently deal with Rosalie.

"Nothing like a heaping serving of ego for breakfast," I murmured to myself.

"Did you say something?"

"Nope," I lied. There were many things I needed to do today, getting into an argument with Rosalie over her over inflated sense of self was not one of them.

"Didn't think so," she bit back. "Anyway, I'm calling to make sure you know what time you're supposed to be at the airport tonight."

"I know. I have it programmed in my phone."

"Good. You guys can head straight to the house afterwards. Em and I will be there."

"Mmhm," I managed to mumble, drifting back to sleep.

"Wake up, Edward!" Her tone echoed her impatience and triggered my own.

"I'm awake, damn it. Is that all you wanted, because if so, I'm heading back to bed?" Between stress at home and the persistent bad dreams I kept having, all I wanted to do was be left undisturbed for a few more hours.

"What were you doing last night that has you so damn sleepy this late in the day? Did you two make nice?" I let out an exasperated sigh. I knew the conversation would eventually get around to this, but I still didn't want to go there.

"Rosalie, I was…out, okay? And no, not with Tanya."

"If you weren't with her, who were you with, Edward? Seriously, if I find out you're hooking up with one of those no-good ho hos, I swear on all that is holy—"

"What the fuck, Rosalie?" I growled into the phone. "What the hell are you smoking?" I was sufficiently beyond impatient and solidly in pissed-off territory. As it was, I hadn't had a good night's sleep in days, tossing and turning through the dreams that seemed to haunt me constantly. Facing a mini-inquisition from Rosalie was just enough to push me over the edge.

"First of all, you're not Emmett, so drop the 'ho ho' shit. That ghetto act works for him, not so much for you. Second, you know me well enough to know I wouldn't be out 'with one of those no-good ho hos' as you so eloquently put it. You know damn well that has never been my thing. And third, not that it's any of your business, but I went out for a late night run."

"I didn't know you still did that whole running in the middle of the night thing," she said, her voice indicating her displeasure.

"Yeah, occasionally. It helps me clear my head."

"How far?"

"Fifteen miles."

"Fifteen miles in the middle of the night? What's on your mind, Edward? You only cover that much distance when you're marathon training or stressed about something."

I rolled my eyes, abandoning all hope of going back to sleep and flipping on the lamp sitting on the nightstand. I inwardly lamented Rosalie's knowledge of my obvious tells. She had a tendency to involve herself in my life without actually stopping to ask if her involvement was appreciated. She was right, of course. I was stressed, but I was in no mood to discuss any of my issues with her and decided to shift the conversation in another direction.

"Stuff. That's all," I said, stifling a yawn. "Did you go by the office today? Jason left me a message yesterday about going in to sign the new contracts."

"I did that hours ago. Nice try, Edward. Don't try to change the subject. This is about you and Tanya isn't it?" Sitting on the edge of the bed, I dropped my head into my hand, audibly sighing. She was not going to let this go.

"I'll take that sigh as a yes. Look, Edward, whatever's going on in that pretty little head of yours, you need to stop over-thinking everything and just go with it. All this drama between the two of you seems to be coming from your end because when I spoke to her the other day, she didn't seem to realize anything was going on."

"Damn it, Rosalie. What did you say to her?"

"I didn't tell her anything. It's not like you've told me anything to tell her anyway. I was talking about my anniversary and that led to talk about marriage, and let's just say, I didn't get the impression from her that you were in a cooling off period. Where is she, anyway?"

"She's been staying at Kate and Garrett's house to help with the baby. Look, I'd appreciate it if you'd back off and let me handle my relationship, thank you. Things with us are complicated, but that's for us to figure out. You didn't say anything about tonight, did you?" I asked, pushing myself off the bed and pacing my bedroom floor.

"Didn't you ask me not to invite her? I think that your request was absolutely ridiculous and it bothers me that you don't want my best friend there when I'm celebrating my one year anniversary with the people I love, but who am I to interfere."

"Rosalie McCarty, nee Hale, and you live to interfere. I know you don't understand it, and honestly, it's not something I really feel like trying to explain to you right now, but I just need a Tanya-free night with the family and I appreciate your sacrifice."

"Lose the sarcasm, Edward. And it's Rosalie Hale, no _nee_ about it. Get it straight. He didn't buy me, he married me."

"Okay, okay, sorry, Rosalie _Hale_." I made a second attempt at changing the subject. "What was the production team working on over at the office today? Anything interesting?"

"They're sifting through applications and video entries for next season's show. God, you should see some of them. You and I are going to have our work cut out for us getting this batch in shape. I don't understand how people let themselves get so messed up and how the people around them sit back and watch them do it, no offense."

I looked up, catching a glimpse of my tired reflection in the dresser mirror. I didn't care if it was afternoon, it was still way too early to have to deal with this.

"Of course you wouldn't, Rosalie, because you're perfect and everything about your life is perfect. If everyone else had it as good as you, we'd see obesity rates drop worldwide."

I could tolerate Rosalie one on one in limited doses and I'd pretty much already exceeded my daily limit. I knew Rosalie's heart was in the right place, and she genuinely meant well. But she had been born without a verbal filter, a by-product of her wealth and class, and saw no need to censor herself no matter how potentially insulting she might be. Of course, the fact that she thought so highly of herself that she had me convinced she shit sunshine and rainbows didn't help matters.

"Oh, don't be sensitive, Edward. Put your big girl panties on and get over yourself. I'm sorry, you know many of these cases are pretty ridiculous and I can't stand bullshit excuses for how people let themselves get that way. But, go take a look for yourself. It'll prepare you for what we'll be dealing with next season."

"I'm heading there in a bit, so I might check out some of the entries. Was there anything else you wanted before I hang up?"

"I hope you don't think your attempt at changing subjects was successful. Edward, you need to man up and do right by Tanya. She's a good woman and she's good for you. Everybody's got issues, Edward, and you shouldn't let yours fuck up a good thing."

"And with that, this conversation is officially over. Bye, Rosalie."

I ended the call and tossed my phone on my bed. An early morning—or early afternoon, whatever—psychoanalysis courtesy of Rosalie I'm-not-a-McCarty-I'm-still-a-Hale was nowhere on the list of things I needed to do today.

I trudged into my bathroom, flipping on the light as I went and stopped in front of the mirror. Green eyes rimmed in red, and a perpetual case of bed head greeted me back. I groaned, opening the medicine cabinet and grabbing a small bottle of Visine. I put a few drops in each eye, before turning the faucet on and bending down to splash my face with cold water. Brief flashes of the dream that had been haunting me raced through my mind, jockeying for position.

It had been a while since I'd had these dreams though they'd been like an unwelcome, distant relative visiting me frequently throughout my life. The scene would change— sometimes I was in a desert, other times I was in a forest, but the basics of the dream never changed. I was always alone, searching for, or running from, something or someone. I could never be sure which. Though I never realized I was dreaming until I awakened, the dream always left a grimy residue of unease that would stick with me throughout the day.

I always assumed they were triggered by stress and must have been a subconscious way of internalizing the stress. It had been a while since I'd had them with the frequency I was having them now. In fact, the last time I'd been plagued so consistently by them was when I first moved to LA.

My introduction to the Hollywood scene had been an enlightening one. Fish out of water didn't even begin to describe the complete awkwardness I'd felt in the beginning. That awkwardness increased tenfold when I landed a job as one of two personal trainers for _Big Fat Chance_, a televised weight loss show taking ordinary people, sequestering them, and whipping them into shape one painful pound at a time. I was so different from the people I found myself surrounded by in so many ways. Unlike most of them, Hollywood fame and success had never been a goal of mine. Hell, I hadn't had goals of any sort a few years prior. The parties and mixers I found myself at felt surreal at times. There was no end to the numbers of women, or as Emmett so reverently called them Hollywood hos—_ho hos_ for short—throwing themselves at me.

To be surrounded, wanted, and desired by people who just a few years earlier would have looked right through me— or maybe right around me, whatever— was for lack of a better term, odd. Despite all of the strides I'd taken to leave the old me behind, despite the subtle and obvious ways I'd evolved into a different person, I was still gripped by an unconquerable feeling of loneliness. None of these women got me. I doubted any of them ever could, and maybe I was strange, but I had no interest in being with someone long term who didn't get me. Not that I hadn't tried. Tanya Lebedev was proof of that.

But no one wanted to hear me whine, as Rosalie sought to frequently remind me. "You're a fucking pretty boy now, so lose your fat-boy issues and get over it, already." That was Rosalie's idea of a pep talk when she deemed me "too fucking emo" for her taste. _Get over it_. As if it was that simple. She had no idea how much I wished I could _get over it_. There was no way to explain to her how conflicted I felt at times. How I felt like I could go back to the old me at any time. How I constantly battled to keep myself from falling back into some of my unhealthy, but comfortable, habits, food being chief amongst them. Up until a few years ago, food had been by constant companion, my comfort, my drug of choice. Understanding and breaking that addiction had been one of the hardest struggles of my life, and it never ended.

And now, the dreams were back again. I didn't know if it was a reflection of my tiredness that day, or the general malaise with life that had begun to settle over me. I was going into my fourth season as a trainer for _Big Fat Chance_ and though I was grateful for the opportunity, and recognized how incredibly lucky I was, my discontent was growing. I couldn't put a finger on why, and I hadn't figured out how to shake the mood that had been gradually settling over me. All I knew was that I wanted more, even if I couldn't quite define what "more" was.

x-x-x

Later that afternoon, I made my way to Universal City and to the offices of Little & Brown, Inc., the production company behind _Big Fat Chance_. I put my John Hancock on all of the required forms before heading over to the _Big Fat Chance_ production department. I walked in, taking a moment to absorb the laid-back atmosphere of the office, before spotting the person I was there to see. Angela Weber was the head Production Assistant for _Big Fat Chance_ and she'd been with the show from the very first season. She was sitting at her desk, cradling a phone between her right shoulder and ear as her fingers flew across her desktop keyboard. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses were perched on top of her head, functioning as a headband holding her long brown hair away from her face. A chewed number two pencil was perched delicately behind her left ear. At that moment, she looked up briefly, waving me over before turning her attention back to the person on the phone, her computer, or both—I couldn't be sure which.

When I was within hearing range, she turned her attention to me again, putting her hand over the receiver.

"Hey, Edward, do you have a second?"

"I do. What's up?"

"Since you're here, I want to introduce you to our newest PA. He's going to be on the farm with us this season. Just give me a sec to finish this call, okay?"

"No problem, Ang," I said, lowering myself into one of the office chairs sitting near her desk. Within moments, she'd finished her call, sighing with relief as she turned to face me.

"What's with the ear jewelry?" I asked nodding towards the pencil behind her ear.

"Oh, this? It gives me character and makes me feel like I'm doing something important. You know I was a journalism major and always saw myself covering important news stories, and well, I'm here instead," she said, gesturing to the room around us. "The pencil screams 'I'm doing something important, back off' don't you think?"

"That must go over well with the guys."

"What guys, Edward? I have no life. You know this. Don't make fun of the socially bereft. We don't like it. Anyway, are you here to see how the other half live?"

"Not exactly. I have to be somewhere in a couple of hours and it doesn't make any sense for me to head back home so I figured I'd spend the time here."

"Hot date?" she asked, winking at me.

"Hardly. Rosalie and Emmett's first wedding anniversary is in a couple of days and we've got family flying in tonight to celebrate."

"Oh, that's right. They had a Christmas wedding, right?" Angela asked.

"You know Rosalie. Even Jesus has to share the spotlight with her." Angela laughed, nodding in agreement.

"You guys crack me up. And yes, that sounds _exactly_ like Rosalie. She was here earlier today, by the way. She wanted to take a look at some of the entries."

"I know. That's actually one of the reasons I'm here. I figured I'd see what this year's field looks like."

"Ah, sneak peek, eh? I'm on to you, Cullen. Doing a little reconnaissance so you'll know how to bring them to their knees on the Farm?"

"I'm not that tough, Angela." She arched an eyebrow in rebuttal. "Okay, I am that tough, but no, I just want to see what this crop looks like."

"Well that works. The new guy is actually down the hall going through the applications that casting sent over so we can kill two birds with one stone. Follow me," she said, edging out of her seat and heading down the hall.

I followed her through the maze of desks, most of which were empty probably due to the upcoming holiday. We came to a stop in front of one desk so thoroughly covered by papers that I couldn't tell what the desktop actually looked like. A short, brown-haired man looked up at us in surprise, before hopping to his feet, looking first at Angela and then back to me just as Angela began the introductions.

"Edward, this is Ben Cheney, our newest Production Assistant. He's been with us for about a month now. Ben, this is Edward Cullen, BFC trainer extraordinaire. I've worked with Edward for the past three seasons and I can assure you, despite what you've probably heard, he's actually a really nice guy." I extended my hand to him just as he did the same.

"Ben's actually going through the first batch of applications and DVDs casting sent over, looking for callbacks," Angela continued. "Edward here wants to scope out the applicants and I have a crapload of work I have to get back to so you guys can hang tight, make nice, and enjoy the rest of the afternoon." Angela gave a quick playful salute to the two of us before turning back towards the hallway we'd come down.

"Oh, and Edward?" she said, turning back around. "Lauren was here earlier and asking whether you were coming in today. I told her you'd contracted a wicked Amazonian virus and would probably be in hiding but I don't think she bought it. You've been warned." She winked at me as I rolled my eyes.

"Thanks for the heads up, Ang," I said, the exasperation evident in my voice.

"Hey, Angela? Are we still on for tonight?" Ben interjected quickly just as she was heading down the hall again. Angela's eyes nervously flitted to mine and away quickly as her cheeks colored.

She nodded briefly before hurriedly heading away from us. I turned to look at Ben, my eyebrows raised in question.

"It's nothing like that," he offered, responding to the knowing look I was giving him. "I just moved here from New York and she offered to show me around, that's all."

"I didn't say anything. We're all adults here," I replied. Who Angela spent her after work hours with was absolutely none of my business and I was fine keeping it that way.

"Anyway, it's really nice to meet you, man. I'm sure you get this a lot and I promise I'm not some crazed fan, but I love what you do on the show. You're like some kind of drill sergeant or something the way you whip people into shape. My mom and sister love you. They're scared of you, but they love you."

"Thanks, Ben," I said, not completely comfortable with the compliment and wanting to get the focus off me. "So…" I said, gesturing to his desk in an obvious attempt to get back to the reason I was there.

"Oh, yeah. Here, excuse the mess," he said, waving his hand toward his desk. "I promise it's organized chaos. I know exactly where everything is."

"Well, you know what they say— a messy desk is the sign of a genius."

"Oh, yeah?" Well no, I personally believed a messy desk was a sign of a messy desk but who was I to judge?

"Something like that. So what can you give me? I want to take a look at what I'm up against this season."

"Here," he said, handing me a stack of applications with DVDs attached. He looked around as if he were searching for something. "Hmm, there aren't any free players here. If you head down the hall, second door on your right, there's an empty office with a TV and DVD player. You can play them there. Let me know if you see any that interest you."

"Will do." I walked toward the office, nodding to the handful of staff members I passed along the way. After finding the empty office, I went in, closing the door behind me and settled into the large leather office chair. I turned the TV on, and since the DVD player could hold six, I loaded six different ones and leaned back as the first one began to play.

The faces and stories began to blend together after a while as everyone said the same thing, they needed our help, they couldn't lose the weight without us, this was their last chance. I swapped out the first six DVDs for another set and was surprised by how many people seemed to do little to make themselves stand out from the crowd. They didn't seem to realize that to be chosen from a field of thousands, something would have to stand out about them. None of the entries were really catching my attention and some time had gone by before I realized I was daydreaming and not even paying attention to the images on the screen. The lids of my eyes began to grow heavy as I fought to pay attention to what was on the screen.

I hadn't realized I had fallen asleep until I was roused—and maybe just a tad bit _a_roused— by the sound of a woman moaning coming from somewhere around me. _What the hell_? Sitting up, I wiped my eyes and looked around, feeling disoriented and trying to figure out where I was and why I was there. As reality slowly crept in and I realized I'd fallen asleep watching audition DVDs, the sound of someone moaning filled the room again.

My eyes flashed up to the screen as I identified the source of the sound. Those sounds, those fucking sounds, were like something straight out of one of my high school fantasies, sensual, lusty, and pretty damn exciting. It felt like an eternity passed as I waited for my mind to catch up with what my eyes and ears were processing. The images on the screen looked innocent enough, but the images those sounds conjured in my mind, naked bodies, heat and sweat, were definitely not.

_What was this?_

I scrambled, probably a little too eagerly, for the remote and skipped back. Whatever the hell was going on, this applicant had definitely managed to catch my attention. As I got to the beginning of the clip and let it play, I again marveled at how innocent enough the scene looked and I started to wonder if maybe I had been imagining sounds that weren't there.

A woman sat at what appeared to be a kitchen table, judging by the cabinets I saw directly over her shoulder. If she was wearing makeup, I couldn't tell, but I could tell that she was young, probably in her early twenties. Her long brown hair fell around her shoulders and from what I could tell from the video it appeared her eyes might be the same hue. She was pale, very pale, ivory was the word that popped to mind looking at her face, and I wondered for a moment whether being in the California sun would help her get some color or send her to the emergency room with second-degree burns.

_"I'm Bella Swan, and this is my life. Ask me what you want, I can't promise I'll be entertaining but I can promise I'll be honest." _

I heard the sound of someone else speaking off camera and I clicked the mouse to raise the volume so I could hear clearly.

_"So Bella, tell us where you live."_

_"Well, Jane, is it alright if I call you Jane or am I supposed to pretend like you aren't here? I suck with this kind of thing, you know that."_

_"It's fine, Bella, just keep going. It's just me and you."_

_"Fine. I'm from Forks, Washington, but I'm currently a resident of Seattle." _

_"What are you planning on doing with your life?" _

_"Wow, we're just bypassing the small questions and going straight for the gold, huh?" _

_"That's the only way to go, Bella. Come hard or go home. You know that's my motto for life."_

I watched as the woman on camera, _Bella_, smoothed her long brown hair back, pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and sat up straighter, facing the camera.

_"Well, Jane, I'm still working on that. I'm somewhat of a work in progress at the moment, but I am doing something. Right now, I'm finishing my Bachelor's degree, which has been pretty much the focus of my life for the past four years. After graduation, I don't know. I guess the world is mine for the conquering, and I just have to go out and figure out where to stake my claim." _

_"Bella, you didn't actually answer the question. You promised truthfulness and I need you to honor that promise for my sake and yours."_

Bella's face seemed to tighten into an unreadable mask as she let out an exasperated sigh. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed together as she stared hard, almost glaring, at something or someone off camera. I assumed from the severity of the look Jane was likely the recipient of the death glare and I was strangely fascinated by the dynamic between the two of them. Just as Bella looked as if she were ready to speak, a plate of what looked like chocolate chip cookies slid into the frame towards her. She looked down at the plate and back at Jane, her eyebrow rising in obvious confusion.

_"I want you to be comfortable while we do this because I need you to be as much yourself as possible if this video is going to be successful for us. I know these make you happy, so feel free to partake. It won't interrupt the flow of the video." _

Bella's eyes remained on Jane for a few seconds longer, her bottom lip once again held hostage by her teeth as she appeared to be trying to work something out in her head. Her mask crumbled and her face relaxed as she sighed again, pulling the plate of cookies directly in front of her and grabbing one. She mumbled something to herself that I didn't catch before taking a bite. I watched as her face smoothed out, all the remaining stress lines disappearing as her eyes closed and her head dropped back slightly. A sound I could only describe as a moan of pure ecstasy, long and drawn out, and still sounding as sensual as it did the first time I'd heard it, wound its way from her lips.

_"I am the bomb." _

I watched as she finished chewing and took some more bites, her eyes never reopening as additional moans of pleasure periodically escaped her lips.

_"If you'd asked me what I was good at, I'd have had an answer for you right away. This is what I'm good at. I kick ass at making food so good you could cream your pants. And for the record Jane, you better edit every bit of this shit out. I'm not even joking."_

_"I'm not an idiot, Bella. That whole little display would have no place in a video submitted to my class. Let's keep going though. Your life and what you're doing with it, that's where we left off. And I don't want a play-by-play of what you're doing now. I want to know what your plans for your future are."_

Bella's eyes eventually reopened and she stared directly into the camera for a few seconds before answering.

_"I don't know that I have any. And I know that sounds pathetic as hell and trust me, I feel pathetic saying it but it's the truth. I don't know. I know there was a time in my life when I had goals and I know there was a time in my life when I had aspirations. I can't tell you when those changed or got lost or whatever, because I don't know that either. I'm kind of living day by day. Right now, my life plan is finishing this degree program. After that's finished, I guess my life goal will be sitting down and figuring out some new life goals." _

_"What do you attribute that to? Your lack of plans for the future…" _

_"I don't know what I attribute it to. Do you have some theories of your own, Jane? Clearly you do, so feel free to share."_

Bella's tone was clipped and from the agitated way she was now gnawing on her poor bottom lip, it seemed this was terrain she and Jane must have traversed before.

_"Well, since you've asked, I don't think you feel good about yourself and I think that's what's holding you back. You count yourself out before you ever get started. You assume the worst of people and assume that they're assuming the worst of you. I think you've found unhealthy escapes to deal with all of these emotions that you refuse to acknowledge and I think the weight of it all is slowly smothering the life out of you." _

The uncomfortable silence that loomed after Jane finished speaking was deafening as Bella stared, unblinkingly at where I imagined Jane must have been sitting. Just as I was wondering how long the stare-down was going to last, Bella moved slightly, sitting up a little straighter, that mask of indifference slamming back into place over her face, and opened her mouth.

_"So as I was saying, at the moment, my plans are to finish my degree. After that, I suppose it's off to the job market to see who's willing to hire a girl fresh out of college with a newly minted B.A…." _

The sound on the tape tapered off and the image faded to black, replaced by a new image of what looked like a small brown-haired girl.

_"I'm Jane, I'm Bella's best friend and have been for as long as I can remember despite the fact that she makes me want to cause her severe bodily harm sometimes. As you can see, she needs your help. Although, she's not quite at the point where she realizes she needs your help. She's beautiful and brilliant and I'm tired of watching her stand on the sidelines too afraid to live her life. _

_"She doesn't know she's submitting an audition tape for Big Fat Chance. She thinks she's helping me out with a school project. She loves this show and watches it religiously. I'm hoping if she's fortunate enough to be selected as one of the contestants, this will be what she needs to jump start her life. At the risk of sounding like everyone else's audition tape I'm going to say, she needs this, desperately. Her life is passing her by and as painful as it is to watch, it has to be more painful for her to live. Her application is in the envelope with this DVD. Thank you for your time."_

The DVD ended and in seconds the next one was playing. I wasn't paying attention, though. My mind was still on the clip I'd just watched. A part of me wanted to snatch the DVD out and run it straight to Ben with instructions to make sure Bella received a call back, while another part of me was hesitant to bring someone on who was still so deep in denial about what she was doing to herself. Making the kind of life changes that she would need to make, the kind of life changes that I had had to make, was tedious work. It would take perseverance and strong dedication and I didn't think it was something that she could be tricked into by a well intentioned friend.

At the same time though, Bella reminded me so much of myself eight years ago that I almost felt like I had just been visited by the ghost of Edward past. That same indifference, that same mask, that same ability to deflect, those were all characteristics that I'd worn like a talisman for so much of my life. But my ability to rid myself of them hadn't come until I'd made the decision to be different. What people failed to understand, what I hadn't really understood in the beginning, was that it was about so much more than just losing the weight. She would need to shift her whole idea of herself and it wouldn't be easy. In fact, it would probably be the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life and if she managed to accomplish it that would just be the starting point. She'd have to figure out how to sustain it for the rest of her life and avoid using food to anesthetize her pain.

I grabbed the remote and skipped back to the last DVD. When I saw Bella's face pop up on the screen again, I used the remote to skip forward until I reached the point on the DVD where the cookies were pushed across the table. I hit the "play" button and watched the scene play out again. The damn moaning was as hot as it was the first time and I felt like a total pervert for thinking so. I tried to chase those thoughts out of my head as I hit the "pause" button and skipped back again. I still hadn't caught what Bella was mumbling to herself before she started eating the cookie and for some reason, I really wanted to know what she'd said. Turning the volume up as high as it could go, I leaned forward in my chair to get a better listen. I watched again as Bella pulled the plate in front of her, grabbing one of the cookies.

_"My drug of choice."_

Those words were uttered so softly, but the resignation they held was too loud to be ignored. This girl was me, right down to the language she used to describe the way she felt about food. Maybe in some cosmic way, I was being presented with an opportunity to relive my own metamorphosis. I felt a little narcissistic for feeling that way, but the opportunity to train someone who seemed so much like my former self seemed too exciting a proposition to let pass. I rolled my chair over to the other end of the table, grabbing the phone and dialing.

"Ben, this is Edward. Can you come here for a sec?"

In less than a minute, there was a quick rap on the door followed by the door opening and Ben's head peeking around.

"You need me?"

"Yeah, I've found one I think is a definite callback. Her name's Bella Swan, and she's from Washington state. I want you to take her application and run it to casting. Let whoever's there know this is one I'm personally marking as a keeper, okay?"

"No problem, Edward. Anything else you need?"

"Sometimes things get lost in the shuffle so do me a favor and keep tabs on this one. I want to make sure she's in the running."

"Gotcha. This one real BFC material?"

"There's something about her, but only time will tell."

x-x-x

That evening, I sat in my car outside of Los Angeles International Airport fiddling with my mp3 player as I waited to receive the call letting me know I could pick up my passengers. I was feeling quite upbeat and had been since I'd left the BFC office earlier that day. I'd come to the realization that I needed a new challenge and that was why I had been feeling so melancholy as of late.

I was proud of all of my training successes, on and off the show, but it wasn't until earlier that I realized I hadn't been forming connections with my clients the way that I had when I'd first become a physical trainer, before I'd joined the cast of _Big Fat Chance_. When I'd joined the show, the ever present cameras made me nervous and I found myself quickly irritated by some of the contestants who seemed more concerned with winning the prize money than changing their lives. That combination annoyed me to no end and as was my habit, my irritation translated on screen in to me coming across as a hard ass. The show's producers loved it though, and strongly encouraged me not to hold back my inner asshole. Of course, they worded it a little better than that, but the general idea was understood.

The excitement I was feeling over the possibility of having Bella on the show had highlighted for me the enthusiasm I had been missing. I tried to tamp down on my excitement because I knew there was a somewhat extensive vetting process she would have to go through before being selected as a contestant. They'd have to make sure—to the degree that they could determine those things—that she wasn't crazy, psychotic, or too imbalanced to be put in the spotlight. Still, I resolved within myself to approach this season of _Big Fat Chance_ with greater zeal. This was going to be the season I brought out my kinder, gentler side. I would make a real attempt to get to know each and every one of the contestants on my team, learn their strengths and weaknesses, learn to motivate them without the yelling and sarcastic remarks, regardless of whether Bella made the cut or not.

My cell phone vibrated, alerting me that I'd received a new text. I picked it up and smiled, shifting the car into drive and heading towards arrivals. I drove slowly, scanning the median as I passed, trying to find the faces I was expecting to see. When I found them, I flipped on my right turn signal, pulling over to the curb and stopping the car. Once I'd put the car into park and popped my trunk open, I jumped out, keys still in the ignition, walking quickly over to the couple standing on the curb.

"Carlisle," I said, smiling as I pulled the older, blond man into a tight hug. Carlisle grinned back at me, his blue eyes twinkling as he patted me on the back.

"Edward, it's so good to see you, son. It's been too long."

"It has been," I replied, slowly pulling away from him and turning towards his companion. "Esme, you are as beautiful as ever."

Esme smiled back at me as she pulled me down into an even tighter hug.

"Edward, my dear, it has been entirely too long. I don't know how I've survived without your flattery!" We both chuckled as we exited the embrace. I moved to grab the bags that were sitting next to them, placing them in the trunk of my car. Carlisle opened the front passenger door of the car and helped Esme in before sliding into the backseat.

"How was the flight from Chicago?" I asked, sliding my seatbelt across my lap and preparing to pull back out into traffic.

"Long, as usual. But it's nice to get away from the cold and snow and join you guys for the holidays. We miss you all so much," Esme said, glancing over at me and tousling my hair.

"We miss you guys too. How many more months until you all are joining us permanently?" I asked, already knowing the answer but a bit embarrassed to let them know how much I was looking forward to Carlisle's impending retirement and their eventual relocation to Los Angeles.

"June thirtieth is my last day at the hospital and Esme and I already have one-way tickets back to LA for July fifteenth," Carlisle said, as I glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "Rosalie has promised Esme that she'll introduce her to a few realtors while we're here on vacation so we can start the house hunting process."

"Good. That'll give me a few months to help you guys get settled in before I'm expected back on the Fat Farm."

"Ah, the Fat Farm," Carlisle said, contemplatively. "How is that going for you?"

"It's going. We head back to tape the season finale in a few weeks. I was actually at the office earlier today looking at some of the audition DVDs and I'm getting a little excited about the upcoming season. There was an entry from a girl who reminded me of myself back then, Carlisle."

"How so?"

"Eh, same stubbornness, same unwillingness to see what she's doing to herself."

"That does sound like you. Why did she enter if she doesn't think there's a problem?"

"She's got a friend in her corner. Her friend entered her behind her back."

"That will be quite a surprise for her if she's selected. You know what I've told you before, though. The likelihood of someone changing is small if they aren't willing to recognize that there's a problem."

"That's true," Esme said, chiming in. "But both of you men know firsthand that having someone believe in you, advocating for you, supporting you, can mean all the difference in the world."

"It does," I said in agreement. "I'm hoping she makes it on the show and I'm excited to have the challenge. If I can be half the inspiration to her that you've been to me Carlisle, she'll be a better person for it."

"I'm sure you will be, son. I'm sure you will be."

The ride seemed to pass by quickly as we talked about what we'd been doing since the last time we'd seen each other. Carlisle Cullen had been the closest thing I'd ever had to a father before he eventually signed the paperwork necessary to make it official and actually became my father. He and Esme had welcomed me into their family with open hearts and open arms and I was a different man because of it. I shuddered to think about what would have become of me without their influence in my life, and although I wasn't a religious man, I thanked God on a regular basis for leading me to them.

It had been through Carlisle, that I first met Emmett, his nephew through marriage. Emmett, the son of Esme's only sister, had lived in Los Angeles with his parents until his parents were killed in a car accident and he was sent to live with Esme and Carlisle, the only next of kin capable of raising a rambunctious twelve-year-old boy. When Emmett and I met, we clicked right away and he quickly became my best friend. When he'd eventually been offered the opportunity to return to the city of his birth and head up the cast of another Hollywood weight loss show, he'd asked me to move with him.

According to him, my new and improved body was meant for the sun and fun of LA. It had been hard leaving Carlisle and Esme behind in Chicago. They'd come to mean so much to me. But they, too, felt I could benefit from the change in scenery and joined forces with Emmett to convince me to leave the Windy City behind. I had, of course, and while I didn't regret that decision, I did miss having Carlisle and Esme's presence in my daily life.

"So Edward, how're things going with Tanya? You haven't mentioned anything about her." Esme's question broke through my wandering thoughts and I tried not to visibly wince as she broached the one topic I tried to stay clear of with her and everyone else—my love life.

How were things going? I didn't really know how to answer that. Tanya and I had been dating exclusively for a little over a year. We were comfortable and we worked well together, but while I was sure we loved each other, we weren't _in_ love with each other and that was beginning to pose a problem—for me at least. Tanya was constantly hinting that she thought it was time for us to take our relationship to the next level. Okay, hinting wasn't a strong enough word. She'd actually put my e-mail address on _Tiffany &_ _Co.'s_ email list, and had even had a personal representative call me to schedule a time when I could come in and "view some of the selections my girlfriend _might_ be interested in." She was a subtle one, that Tanya.

She was more focused on outward appearances than the actual substance or quality of our relationship though. To her, we made sense together, and even though she admitted that she felt the same absence of passion that I felt, she was willing to overlook that since everything else seemed to fit. On paper we did make sense, both twenty-six, both highly ambitious and motivated people. She was an attractive woman and I knew she found me attractive as well, but there had never been any fire in our relationship—no spark. It wasn't that we'd lost it. We never had it. We'd just fallen together because it seemed to make sense.

She was Rosalie's best friend, and once Rosalie and Emmett became joined at the hip, Tanya tagged along with Rosalie as I tagged along with Emmett whenever they decided to come out of their bubble and spend time with friends again. After a while, we began doing things together, just the two of us. And before I'd even fully realized it, we were a couple. It didn't hurt that around that same time, she'd lost a roommate and I'd lost a room when Rosalie decided to move in with Emmett. Our relationship made Rosalie insanely happy—I think it relieved some of the guilt she felt about abandoning Tanya for Emmett. Emmett, on the other hand, wasn't impressed. He didn't think I was ready to settle into a long-term relationship because as he so poignantly put it, "I hadn't slept with enough women to sufficiently make up for my ass deficit."

I didn't agree with Emmett. I'd gone out of my comfort zone when I first arrived in LA, losing my long held virginity and trying to master the art of the meaningless hook-up like most twenty-something guys. But it didn't take me countless numbers of nameless women to realize that I _wasn't_ most twenty-something guys. I was different. I found it impossible to escape who I'd been in the past. And since in the past, I had been a reclusive, classical music loving, no-ass getting fat boy who was far too self-conscious to ever even ask a girl out, much less sleep with one, I wasn't able to transform into a modern day player, sweeping women off of their feet one panty-dropping smirk at a time no matter how hard Emmett pushed.

Still, despite my lack of desire to become a Hollywood playboy, I realized I wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of marrying someone just because it was expected and comfortable. I wasn't naïve enough to think there was a soul mate out there waiting for me to knock her off her feet, or any of that Hollywood bullshit, but I'd recently decided that my relationship with Tanya had run its course and it was time for us to go back to just being friends. I was just too chickenshit to tell her. I was waiting for either her to make the first move or for the start of the new _Big Fat Chance_ season so I would have the perfect excuse to move out and make a clean break.

"Things are the same," I said, choosing not to elaborate and not knowing where to begin even if I did elaborate.

"Well, doesn't that sound downright romantic," Esme scoffed. Esme was as proud of all of my accomplishments as any mother would be, but she made no bones about the fact that my love life troubled her. Carlisle had once confided to me that she'd wondered if I had been too emotionally scarred during my younger years to ever be able to find a woman who could hold my interest. After a good laugh, I'd asked Carlisle to reassure Esme that I wasn't damaged, and that the minute Mrs. Right, walked into my life and announced herself, I'd latch on to her with the grip of a lion on his prey—without the blood, and violence and killing part, of course.

"Just so you know, that's not what Rosalie has been telling me."

My eyebrows rose slightly as I glanced away from the road for a second to look over at Esme.

"And what exactly has Rosalie been telling you?"

"She seems to be under the impression that there may be a wedding date set soon."

If I'd been drinking something, I would have choked.

"A wedding date?! I haven't even asked her to marry me yet!"

"Oh, so you _are_ planning on asking her?!" Esme chirped, tiny lines appearing around the corners of her brown eyes as she smiled in excitement.

"No, that's not what I mean. It's not like that… it's… it's… it's complicated, Esme. I wish I could explain it."

"Don't wish, just explain."

I glanced in the rearview mirror again, catching Carlisle's eye. I tried to nonverbally send my SOS signal so he would rescue me from the conversation. He shrugged his shoulders though, and made a face that indicated there was nothing he could do. I sighed.

"We're not in love, Esme. I refuse to marry someone I'm not in love with."

"Well then why are you two together?"

"Because that's just what happened, but trust me, there isn't some deep emotional connection here. And that's not just me speaking. She feels the same way. She's just willing to move forward despite that."

"What are you looking for that she's not providing, Edward? Sometimes, it is possible that in our search for perfection we can lose out and miss the obvious."

"Esme, I'm not looking for perfection. Honestly, at this point, I'm not looking for anything. My job has me away from home so often that I barely have time for myself, much less someone else. Tanya is a great woman but I think she's too willing to settle for less. I just don't think it's fair for either Tanya or myself to stay in a relationship that isn't as fulfilling as it should be for either of us."

I decided to go in for the kill. Whether I believed that shit or not, and I most certainly did _not_, I knew it would get her off my back. Esme was nothing if not a hopeless romantic.

"Esme, don't you think I should find someone who means to me what Carlisle means to you? What Rosalie means to Emmett? That's all I'm asking for and while I may not be scouring the earth looking for that, I'm not averse to it and trust me, Tanya and I _aren't_ that."

Esme huffed as she turned towards her window. I knew I'd hit her soft spot. Despite how desperately she may have wanted to see me with someone, she didn't want it to be a hollow existence. She'd had that before Carlisle. She knew what it was like to be caught in a loveless marriage, suffocating and struggling to find a way out of it. If I knew anything about Esme, it was that she would never want me, or anyone else she cared seriously about, to experience that.

"Will she be at Rose and Em's tonight?" Esme asked, still looking out of the window instead of turning towards me.

"No. I asked Rosalie not to invite her and she said she wouldn't."

"How'd Rose take that? Tanya's her best friend isn't she?"

"She is and I guess she took it well. There really wasn't anything to take. I didn't tell her anything about how I've been feeling. I just told her things were a little strained between Tanya and I right now and I'd rather not have her there this evening."

From my peripheral, I saw Esme's reddish-brown hair sway as she nodded her head in understanding. The rest of the drive passed in silence, the music from my mp3 player the only sound, though the air in the car remained a bit charged. When I pulled up to the massive house Emmett and Rosalie had recently purchased, Emmett came bounding down the driveway ready to greet us before I'd even put the car into park. The sight would have probably seemed threatening to anyone who didn't know him, despite the huge dimpled grin on his face. Short, black curly hair topping off his enormous 6'5 bulky, muscle-man frame, he appeared way more intimidating than he actually was.

"Mama E! Daddy C! Welcome back!" Emmett shouted exuberantly as he opened Esme's and then Carlisle's door before turning back to Esme and pulling her out of the car and into a bear hug.

When Emmett had gone to live with Esme and Carlisle he'd immediately insisted on calling Esme "Mom." Esme, however, felt strongly that wearing that title felt disrespectful toward her deceased sister and insisted on "Auntie E" as had been their practice. Emmett, every bit as insistent and strong-willed as his aunt, felt "Auntie" didn't give her her just due and after much back and forth, the two of them eventually reached a compromise and settled on "Mama E". In reality, that usually got shortened to "Ma" anyway, but we all knew Esme secretly adored the endearment.

"EmBear! I have missed you, darling!" Esme said, laughing and squeezing him every bit as hard as he was squeezing her.

At that moment, Rosalie walked up and the hugs and excited exclamations began again.

"I hope you've cooked something special for us, Rosalie because I'm absolutely starving." I said teasingly, hoping that any earlier tension between the two of us was forgotten. She, Emmett and Esme started towards the house, Carlisle and I trailing behind with the bags.

Rosalie turned to me, arching her eyebrow before rolling her eyes and continuing up the driveway.

"Please, boy. You'll be eating catered food tonight. You know I don't have a domestic bone in my body."

"That doesn't matter, baby," Emmett said, throwing his right arm around Rosalie while his left remained firmly around Esme. "My Lee Lee's body's too damn tight to hold anything else, anyway. Ain't that right, Lee Lee?" he said, dropping his arm from around her neck and smacking her butt.

Carlisle and I rolled our eyes at one another, too used to Emmett and Rosalie's exuberant public displays of affection to say anything.

The house was a step up from the old condominium Emmett and Rosalie used to share and since it had been purchased since the last time Esme and Carlisle were here, Emmett started their tour the moment they entered the house.

I followed Rosalie into the kitchen and stopped in my tracks when I saw Tanya standing at the counter mixing drinks. My eyes darted towards Rosalie who seemed to be trying to avoid my gaze as a smug smile took up residence on her face.

"Edward, how could you forget to tell me Esme and Carlisle were coming in tonight? Luckily, Rose called me in enough time for me to get here from Kate's house." Tanya said in her singsong voice seemingly oblivious to the tension that had taken root in the room the minute I'd realized Rosalie had invited her against my wishes.

"Yes, Edward, how could you have forgotten? It's lucky for all of us that I happened to call her this morning. This dinner wouldn't have been complete without Tanya here, don't you think?"

Rosalie had the nerve to look at me, narrowing her eyes as if challenging me to make a scene.

I loved Rosalie as a sister, I really did, but her knack for meddling in my life had gone one step too far. All I'd wanted was one evening away, one Tanya-free evening, to catch up with my family and step outside of the pretend perfection of our relationship. But Rosalie forced my hand and in the battle of wills between myself and Rosalie, I was not going to let her win. She had just handed me the motivation I needed to do what I had to do.

"Tanya, we need to talk."

* * *

**A/N **I'm a big fan of telling people "thank you" so please indulge me for a sec while I say thanks to some folks. I promise I don't have an Oscar complex and I won't always be writing novel-length author's notes:

1. Thanks to hmonster4 and gustariana for hosting the Indie Writers' Contest. I'd been too chicken to write and post anything on my own and that competition was my motivation to get off the sidelines and jump into the fray.

2. Thanks to Heather Dawn and Kassiah. More than likely, you're reading this now because Heather stumbled onto the o/s, rec'd it to Kassiah and Kassiah pimped it on the Fictionators' blog.

3. Thanks to keepingupwiththekids for auctioning her beta services in the FGB auction.

4. Thank _you_ for taking the time to read this. I truly appreciate it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. The rest comes from the gelatinous recesses of my mind.

Thank you to **nattydread** for beta'ing this chapter.

The fandom lost one of its bright stars recently when Lisa, LASMKE, passed away as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash. She was a beautiful person and I know some of you are here because she sent you. Her family has decided to delete her profile and has asked that anyone interested in donating in her memory do so at One . org, a charity that she featured in one of her stories. Lisa, you will be missed.

* * *

**~*…Bella...*~**

In a small, sleepy town like Forks, where everyone knows everyone and every_thing_ about everyone, I couldn't remember not knowing Mike Newton. We'd been together from preschool through twelfth grade and as such, had watched each other stumble from one awkward stage to the next. Well, not _together_ together. We were together, as in always in the same classroom, always at least aware of the other's existence, occasionally something even tantamount to friends, and for the past five years, occasionally something...more. That was partly due to the fact that our town was so small that its entire population could fit onto the first few floors of a New York skyscraper with plenty of room left over, and partly because my mother, Renee Swan, had been a long-time prized employee of Newton's Motion, a sporting goods chain Mike's father and uncle owned.

Every Christmas Eve, the Newtons held a dinner at their home for the families of some of their more valuable employees, and every Christmas Eve, I went—at my mother's behest and against my better judgment—and pretended to have the time of my life while secretly wishing I was back at home. I craved nothing more than the comfort of my room, my bed, my TV, and my laptop. Okay, that wasn't exactly true. Mrs. Newton made one hell of a pecan pie every Christmas Eve, and I craved that too. Most years, I'd managed to corral my best friend, Jane, into joining me, but this year I hadn't been so lucky. Witnessing the awkward social dance that was my parents' relationship was barely tolerable within the confines of our home, and was downright painful at times in public. Couple that with my mother's brazen attempts to throw me in the path of Mike Newton in an effort so persistent it was worthy of an Austen novel, and it became clear why escaping outside, getting a moment to myself to just breathe and be, was my only respite from the madness.

Which explained why for the past twenty minutes I had been sitting on the expansive back porch of a house that did not belong to me, staring off into the surrounding woods, alone. Alone at least, until Mike Newton decided to step out onto the porch with a large plastic cup in one hand and a small bundle of mistletoe in the other. I glanced over at him as he stood there for a second, likely allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, before he walked over to where I was sitting on the porch step and dangled the damn mistletoe over my head.

I sighed.

"You know that a kiss under mistletoe was traditionally considered a promise to marry, don't you? So unless you're interested in making me your young bride and the mother of your future spawn, I suggest you drop it. Literally."

"I thought it was supposed to guarantee happiness and a long life. And of course, a chance to get a little lip action without having to pay for dinner first," Mike said, as he hurriedly threw the little bundle of green over the porch railing and into the darkness.

I rolled my eyes.

"Only joking, Bella. I swear."

"What do you want, Mike? Did my mother send you looking for me again? I'm trying to enjoy a little alone time right now," I said, resignedly.

"No, Renee didn't send me. I was just trying to figure out where you were. When I didn't see you inside I thought you were either off with Jane somewhere or sitting out here, staring off into the woods. Aren't you cold?"

"I've got my trusty hoodie," I said, gesturing to the shapeless black zip-up sweatshirt I was wearing with _Seattle University_ emblazoned across the front. "And how did you know I'd be sitting out here?"

"Bella, in high school, any day it wasn't raining you'd be sitting outside at lunch, usually alone, either reading a book or just staring off into the woods."

"What can I say? I'm predictable, and I like my solitude."

"So why are you out here?"

"Enjoying the solitude. Picking up on a theme here yet, Mike?" Mike leaned against the porch railing, staring up at the dark mass of clouds whose ever present existence served to segregate the town of Forks from the light of both the sun and the moon. He didn't respond and he made no attempt to leave, which was beginning to annoy me immensely.

"Just for your information, to properly enjoy one's solitude, one actually needs to be solitary," I said, not looking at him but making sure the sarcasm in my voice was anything but subtle. He stayed silent though, seemingly undeterred by my attempt at dismissing him. He lowered himself onto the step next to me, shoving the large red plastic cup in my direction.

"I brought you this," he said as I reached over to take the cup from his hand. Even in the darkness I could make out the thick contents of the cup and quickly put it to my mouth, taking a big gulp. The contrast in tastes as the cold of the eggnog intermingled with the heat of whatever alcohol had been mixed in left a trail of warmth in its wake as it went down.

"What's in the eggnog?" I asked.

"Bourbon."

"Thanks," I said, relaxing just a bit. "I needed this, I think." I held the cup to my lips, inhaling the rich intertwined smells of the eggnog and bourbon before taking another sip.

"So where's Jane? Doesn't she usually join you for these things?" he asked as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

"She's working on an internship at one of the local stations in Seattle and they needed her over the break, so she stayed."

"Nice. It's great that you guys are still good friends after all this time," he said approvingly. "Although, back in the day, she always hated me."

"Yup, she did." _Does_ was more like it, but we didn't need to get into that. "In her defense though, calling her pipsqueak throughout elementary school, even if you did mean it as an endearing term, was never going to put you on her favorite friends list." He laughed.

"No, I guess that's true," he said trailing off, an awkward silence descending around us. "So how've things been, Bella? I've been sending emails occasionally to check up on you but I haven't heard anything back. I was hoping we'd see each other over Thanksgiving break, but your mom said you decided to stay in Seattle."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Things were a little hectic last semester, and my inbox remained mostly untouched while I kind of fell off the planet."

"It's okay. I understand," he said. "It gets hard trying to balance everything. But it's almost over. Can you believe that? We're down to only one more semester and then we're done. That just blows my mind because it doesn't feel like it was that long ago that we were in high school. I totally miss those days sometimes." Mike stared off into the distance, a wistful smile on his face, as I took another long sip from my cup.

We were so very different, Mike and I. His comment about missing high school was the type of thing only heard by kids who'd been at the higher end of the high school totem pole, a space I never occupied. Granted, in a school with a graduating class of less than seventy-five students, that totem pole was relatively short and pretty unadorned, but there had still been a hierarchy. Jocks and cheerleaders held court on one end; nerds, band geeks, the socially awkward and all those in between, were on the other. As a somewhat shy, athletically challenged girl who'd grown up wearing clothes with euphemisms like "pretty plus," I had definitely been uncomfortably wedged in that lesser caste. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that I could honestly say I missed about high school. Every bit of it had been painfully dull and painfully slow, and I remembered being desperate to get out of high school, get out of my parents' house, and get the hell out of Forks.

Are you on track to graduate?" he asked, pulling me out of my musings.

"Yeah, I'll be finished next semester, and you're right. It has gone by fast," I said, turning away from him and resuming my directionless gazing into the dark forest in front of us.

"What's next for you? After college, I mean," he asked.

It was becoming clear to me that despite my best attempts, Mike wasn't going to leave me to myself. Not only was he not getting ready to leave, he was going to start asking me about things I really wasn't in the mood to think about, much less discuss. As I allowed that reality to sink in, I realized the only alone time I was going to get at this Christmas Eve soiree would be in my head. The best way to achieve even that small feat would be to change the direction of the conversation and let Mike do what Mike did best—talk about himself.

"I haven't ironed out all of the details yet, but tell me what's going on with you? What's your long term plan look like? Are you on your way to business school now?" Mike's face lit up as he took the bait and immediately dove into explaining every painstaking detail of his long and drawn out plan for the future.

As Mike began his animated discussion, I turned my head to look at him, hoping my facial expression held a respectable amount of interest as I allowed my thoughts to wander. I supposed for an ex-jock, high school must have felt like his glory days. At the time, he was what every girl wanted, or at least thought they wanted. Mike was the full package—by Forks standards anyway—sandy blond and blue-eyed, the star running back of our high school football team, and the son and nephew of two prominent business men. Add to that the fact that he was armed with a plan for the future that would likely take him far beyond the lumber mill and nearby correctional center which stood as the final resting places for the vast majority of Forks' employed male population, and what you had was a true golden boy.

Looking at him now, I could see where the absence of regular sports in his life was leaving its mark. His jaw line, once angular and taut, had given way to smoother lines. The cuts and definition that he'd been renowned for in high school had over time become less distinguished as his frame rounded out a bit, not quite heavy but definitely a few hot wings and beers away from becoming so. Mike wasn't the only one whose physique had undergone changes during the post high school years. Somehow my weight, always on slippery ice, had careened out of control and left me dazed and confused on the side of the road without a clue as to how I'd gotten there or how to right myself again. I'd gone from being slightly on the heavy side in high school into a category even I was uncomfortable defining. The freshman fifteen had ballooned into significantly more, and somewhere along the way I'd stopped paying attention or caring.

Well, that wasn't exactly the truth. I noticed. It would have been hard not to. I couldn't wear a pair of jeans without them leaving angry red lines zigzagging across my stomach where they closed. Hoodies in the winter, and extra-large t-shirts in the summer had become wardrobe staples as they were the only clothing I wore that actually allowed me to feel even a modicum of comfort. Despite feeling like I was too young to go down the sweat-pants only road, I had to admit, it was a comfortable road to travel.

Mike and I had ignored each other during our childhood years when boys were gross and girls had cooties, traded notes with each other in our middle school years, and ended up in some sort of strange arrangement during the latter part of our high school years. I'd nursed a minor crush on Mike during most of my stint in high school. As was the case in small towns where the pickings were slim, every girl needed someone to spend countless hours obsessing over and he was the object of my obsession. It wasn't something I'd have ever of had the courage to announce on my own accord, especially after he began dating Forks' head cheerleader, Jessica Stanley. Yet somehow, towards the end of our eleventh grade year the two of us found ourselves in uncharted territory, together.

It was during an off period in Mike and Jessica's on-again, off-again relationship that things between us became… complicated. I'd been asked by our biology teacher to tutor Mike in order to help bring his science grade up before the end of the school year. We were holed up together in his bedroom, the only two people in the house, when out of nowhere, he kissed me. It was tentative at first, and a little awkward, but it didn't take long for it to ignite a bundle of desire that had previously lain dormant in my seventeen year old body. Things moved at a lightening pace from one first to the next and by the time we took our biology final, we'd both been thoroughly tutored in the physical sciences though his tutorage was undoubtedly way more hands on than mine. The whole experience was new and exciting, and at times overwhelming, because as nice as it felt to be wanted by someone like Mike, it felt infinitely worse to feel hidden by him.

And we were hidden. Outside of the confines of his bedroom, nothing had changed and though we spent a good majority of that summer sneaking around together, in public, our friendship was as casual and almost nonexistent as ever. There was never any handholding, whispered adorations, or public displays of anything, ever. He'd never made any promises to me and we'd never discussed what the new developments in our quasi-friendship were. So it shouldn't have come as such a shock to me when the fall breeze finally blew the last remaining remnants of summertime away, and within the first few weeks of our senior year Mike and Jessica were back on again, their mouths seemingly permanently fixed together whenever we weren't in class. I told myself I was okay with that. I hadn't really been looking for a boyfriend anyway. At the very least, I knew that on some level I was desired. And as much as I felt like a traitor to the women's liberation movement for feeling so, that was enough. At least that's what I was still attempting to convince myself.

We settled into a pattern after that. He'd break up with Jessica and sometime soon after, I'd get a text message asking if I wanted to come over. In the beginning, the relationship—if it could even be called that—felt wrong. But eventually, I came to realize I needed those brief interludes. They made me feel..._something_, which was a step above the apathy that usually blanketed my life. The segue from high school to college brought a number of changes to our lives, but one thing was constant; if he was single (I always was) and we were in the same place, we picked up right where we'd left off in high school. Over the past few years, I'd noticed that Mike seemed to make more of an effort to actually keep up the specter of a friendship with emails and even intermittent phone calls between our occasional hook-ups, much to my chagrin. While that effort might have made me happy back in high school, I found it tiring now. I'd long since come to terms with exactly what our "relationship" was and wasn't.

My mother eventually caught wind of what was going on, and because she was born with a rare gene which made it impossible for her to have normal motherly reactions to anything, she gave her unequivocal approval. She had always lamented the fact that I had not inherited her social graces and my constant lack of male company was a source of great consternation for her. She was always on my case about needing to pay more attention to my appearance and made no attempts at subtlety when it came to her displeasure over my size. She'd made the mistake of romanticizing whatever this thing between Mike and I was, assuming it would eventually mature into something lasting and more meaningful with time. Mike had taken to asking my mother about me whenever he saw her, which only fanned the flames of false hope already smoldering within her.

"What about you, Bella?"

"Huh?" Startled back into reality, my eyes refocused on Mike's face as I tried to search my subconscious mind for the slightest hint of what he might have just asked without making it completely obvious that I hadn't heard a word. It didn't work.

"Where'd you just go?" Mike asked, eyebrows raised, clearly aware that he'd probably been speaking to an audience of zero for the past few minutes. I at least had the common courtesy to offer an embarrassed blush before answering him.

"Sorry, I get lost in my head sometimes, and It's been a long week, and I'm tired, and I really just need some sleep. What were you asking?"

"I was asking where you were planning on going after graduation?" he stated, diving headfirst into a conversation I had no desire to have. "Are you coming back here or staying in Seattle?"

Just thinking about my non-existent post-undergrad plans brought to mind a huge blowup fight that Jane and I had gotten into just a few weeks before when she'd questioned me about that very same thing under the guise of needing to interview me for a class project. She attributed my lackadaisical approach to my future to a lack of self-esteem which was utter and total bullshit. What did self-esteem have to do with deciding on a career path? I attributed it to… Well, I wasn't quite sure what I attributed it to. It wasn't something I liked thinking about much, though I couldn't pinpoint why.

"My plans are still up in the air for now, but I can pretty much guarantee I _won't_ be back here."

"Ouch," he said in reply to the acid in my voice. "What did Forks ever do to you?"

"I'm tired of being here, Mike. And I'm tired of _that_," I said, flailing my hand behind me towards the house.

"Something wrong with my mother's cooking?" he asked jokingly. I rolled my eyes and threw my head back, quickly draining the rest of the contents of my cup.

"The fakeness. The pretenses. My mom, my dad, _your_ uncle. I love my parents, I think we're genetically predisposed to regardless of how much they screw us up, but I'm so over all of this." Mike furrowed his brow a little and I continued. "Come on, Mike. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. Clearly my mom has been doing your uncle for years, and my dad and everyone else around here would have to be pretty damn blind not to have noticed. And yet, everyone acts like nothing is going on. I don't understand this shit, but it grates on my nerves and I hate even having to be around it. It's depressing as hell living out a real life episode of Jerry Springer."

"Whoa, there's a cross dressing midget in the mix?" I glared at him and he put his hands up in surrender, laughing.

"Sorry, sorry! I'm only kidding. In all seriousness though, they're all adults. Why do you let what they do bother you?"

"Really, Mike? That seems like a stupid question to ask. Adults or not, they're my parents. Of course what they do bothers me," I said, disgustedly.

Mike was silent for a while after that and I, too, held my tongue hoping that he would choose to either get up and leave or at least refrain from any additional inane chatter for the remainder of the evening. My hopes were dashed.

"You seeing anyone?" he asked, plowing right through my intentional silence as if it were an engraved invitation to continue.

"No. I'm not seeing anyone."

"Yeah, me either."

I remained silent. I knew the implication of his question, understood the proposition that was nestled so conspicuously in its folds, and knew, unequivocally, the answer he was expecting to receive. After all, this was us. But I couldn't give it, not tonight. I wasn't sure why since nothing had really changed. I'd endured a thousand lectures from Jane from eleventh grade on about this _thing_ with Mike, and although I would never admit it to her, tonight the momentary pleasure just didn't seem worth the hollow burn it would leave behind.

"So…" he started.

"So, I'm going to head back in and see if Charlie is ready to head home because I am exhausted and I'm sure he's had his year's worth of social interaction today," I said, cutting him off as I began standing up. "It was great to see you again, Mike. Tell your folks thanks for all of this."

"Hey," he said, looking somewhat confused. "You're leaving?"

"That's my plan," I replied, brushing my pants off and handing him the empty plastic cup.

"Well, how long are you in town? Can I see you again?"

"Um, I'm here 'til the third, so I'm sure we can—" I censored myself. _Not hook-up, not hook-up… what's another word for hook-up?!_ "…get together sometime before that."

"Yeah, okay, that'll work," Mike said, seeming slightly resigned. "You still have my number?"

"It hasn't changed has it?"

"No, it's the same."

"Then we're good. I'll see you later, Mike," I said over my shoulder as I opened the house door. Mike followed behind me, and I made quick work of putting some distance between us as I made my way towards the nearest TV where I was sure I'd find my father parked.

"Ch—Dad?" I asked after spotting him comfortably situated on one of the Newton's sofa recliners. "I'm ready to head out if you are." He turned to look at me, momentarily abandoning the game he'd been engrossed in watching.

"Bells? You ready to head home?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Well, your mother said she's going to get a ride home later, so we can head out now. I'll go say goodbye to our hosts and be out in the car," he said, heaving his large frame out of the chair. He stood there a second, running his hand through his thick brown hair. He stretched, groaning audibly, as his large stomach (once a beer belly, now a couple cans short of a case) escaped the confines of his shirt, unable to be fully contained. He caught me staring and winked as he patted his stomach.

"Grab some leftovers on your way out, Bells, preferably some of that pecan pie. You know how much I love her pie," he said as a he lumbered in the direction of the Newton's dining room.

"Of course, Dad," I responded. "I always do."

x-x-x

"Bella?"

"Bella? Are you planning on sleeping all day?"

"Bella, I know you can hear me."

"Bella, I'm coming in." I groaned, wiping the remnants of sleep from my eyes, rolling over and checking my cell phone for the time. _6:30 AM_.

"Mom, no disrespect, but have you lost your ever-loving mind?! Why are you waking me up at 6:30 in the morning?"

"It's Christmas, honey. I figured you'd want to open your presents." _Was she serious?_

"Are you serious? I couldn't do this later in the day, like at a time when all of my brain cells have had a chance to wake up, stretch, and prepare to be assaulted with your Christmas cheer?"

"No matter how old you get, Bella, you remain a Christmas grump."

"Grinch, you mean."

"Grinch, Grump, you wear both crowns. Now, get up and come downstairs."

"Can't you go harass Dad instead of me? Isn't that what you keep him around for?"

"You're such a comedienne. Charlie's not here. Deputy Steve wanted the day off, and you know your father will use any excuse not to be home."

"Pot meet kettle," I murmured under my breath.

"Did you say something?"

"Nope, just clearing my voice."

"I'll be waiting downstairs. Go freshen yourself up and then meet me by the tree! It's not like there will be many more Christmases when I can do this," she said excitedly, retreating into the hallway.

"It's not like either of you are ever around enough to do this when I am here," I mumbled to myself.

A half hour later and still half asleep, I'd parked myself in front of our Christmas tree, without even the hint of joy, merriment, or any other yuletide sentiment anywhere on my face. I'd heard that Christmas present swapping was actually a fun experience in other people's homes, and I could vaguely recall a period in my own life when I'd felt that way about Christmas in the Swan house. That had been a long, long, time ago, though.

Ever since my mother had gone on a health kick years ago, a phase that unlike all of her other phases had actually seemed to last, she'd been trying her best to drag me and my father along for the ride. Her usual gifts (Christmas, birthdays, and otherwise) were usually intended for "the entire Swan household" (as she'd proclaim, waving her hand Vanna White style, in front of whatever the latest exercise equipment she'd been infomercialed into buying). Holiday's past had brought us the _Step Workout System_, the _ThighMaster_ (our collection included the original and the more recently upgraded _ThighMaster Gold_—whether the improvements were supposed to make my thighs sparkle as they slimmed, I wasn't sure), the _Gazelle_, the _Ab Roller_, the _Ab Flex_, the _Ab Rocket_, the _Abdominizer,_ and every other piece of plastic guaranteed to give us washboard abs in mere minutes a day.

Of course, working for Newton's Motion meant that occasionally the gifts were a little classier, including the more sophisticated, European inspired, _Nordic Track_ (the bike, the treadmill, _and_ the elliptical). Each piece of equipment always had its moment to shine, untouched in our living room, before enough time passed for my father to feel comfortable carrying them down to the basement to add them to our growing equipment stockpile, without fear of offending my mother. I sat there, trying to shake off the stupor of sleep still surrounding me, and looked warily around our living room for this year's addition to the Swan equipment graveyard.

"Oh, for goodness sake, you look like you're being sentenced for a crime. You have such a pretty face, Bella. It's a shame you don't use it to smile more."

"I'm sorry. It's going to take a lot more than a couple of presents to activate that muscle group this early in the morning, Mom. Just be glad I'm conscious."

"You should come for a run with me this morning. A good jog will wake you right up, and put some much needed color in your cheeks. What do you think?"

It never failed that anytime we were in the same place together, my mother would invite me along for one of her morning runs. Though I joked that her invite always sounded like a bad intestinal disorder, I never took her up on it and she never stopped asking. My mother was nothing if not persistent. Personally, I'd never understood the point of running for the sake of running. Running _to_ something, okay, running _from_ something, even better, but running just to turn around and run back, why?

"If I run anywhere, it's going to be back to bed. So why don't we do this whole present thingie so I can get on that right away," I said, grabbing the card with her name on it that I'd placed under the tree and handing it to her.

She rolled her eyes, taking the card from me before pulling a small package out from under the tree.

"Here you go. Open the card inside first." I grabbed the small rectangular package, paying little attention to the care that she'd clearly put into wrapping it, and ripped it open along the seam. Inside was a rectangular box with a card nestled within. The size and shape of the card brought a slight smile to my face as the thought occurred to me that for once, my mom had given me something I'd actually have use for—money.

"This is much tinier than I expected," I said, ripping open the envelope. "What, did you run out of equipment at Newton's this year?"

"Well, it's not like the equipment here ever got any used anyway."

"You noticed?" I asked with a sarcastic arch of my eyebrow.

"Open the damn card, Bella," she said dismissively, her eyes bright with excitement.

I pulled out the card, quickly scanning the words before pulling out the thin strip of paper tucked into its folds. It wasn't money.

"It's a gift certificate!" my mother excitedly squealed.

"I see that!" I mockingly squealed right back. "But for what?"

"Shape Shifters. It's a brand new fitness center that just opened in Port Angeles. They've got all the latest state of the art equipment, a full-time nutritionist, and a number of personal trainers as well. I know the owners, a husband and wife, and they're lovely people and absolutely committed to their vision."

"You bought me a membership to a gym… named after a mythical sci-fi creature?"

"My God, Bella, you're so dramatic. It's just a gym, and it's not just a membership— it's a _two_-year membership. They were running a grand opening special, and I figured with you home for the next few weeks and moving back in a few more months, it could be useful."

"Um, thanks Mom," I said, attempting (but failing, I was sure) to put a heartfelt smile on my face. Looking at the bright side, I figured at least I wouldn't have to worry about my father throwing his back out carrying this latest gift down to the basement. This one was compact enough to collect dust from the top of my bedroom dresser.

"Of course, sweetheart. Look in the box though, there's something else." _Oh, yay me_, I thought, as I pulled apart the tissue paper inside the box.

There was another gift certificate. This one was a five hundred dollar certificate to a local trendy clothing store I never visited because they didn't carry clothes in my size, a fact I knew my mother was aware of. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, looking up at my mom for an explanation.

"I know you have no use for that now, but you will. Consider it an incentive. Once you start working out those pounds are going to just melt right off you, and you're going to need new clothes!" By now I was sure my half-hearted grin had transformed into a grimace.

"You've thought of everything, Mom. Really, thanks," I said, gathering the small heap left in the wake of my present opening and hauling myself up from the floor.

"Where are you going, sweetie? I haven't opened mine," she asked, completely oblivious to my shift in mood.

"It's early. I'm really tired and I need to go back to sleep if I'm going to be functional enough to start Christmas dinner in a few hours."

"Oh, honey, there's no need. I thought I told you. Charlie's going to be at the station all day, and I'm heading to Port Angeles this afternoon to get the store ready because tomorrow's our biggest shopping day."

I sighed. She hadn't told me, but I should have realized it myself since it was the standard Swan tradition; Renee in Port Angeles, Charlie at the station, and me home alone. Why I'd assumed things would be different this Christmas was beyond me.

"Nope. You didn't tell me, but I should have figured that out. Fine, I'll just make something for myself," I said over my shoulder as I began heading up the stairs.

"Sweetie, I have a better idea. Why don't you come with me to Port Angeles?" Her question gave me momentary pause. It had been a long time since she'd expressed any interest in the two of us spending time together. It's not that she was ever intentionally neglectful, she just lived in the moment, and if I wasn't into what she was into, most of those moments unfortunately didn't include me.

"You want me to come with you?" I asked as if the idea were a foreign concept.

"Yes, sweetie. That'll give you a chance to check out Shape Shifters, because they're open tomorrow." I sighed, shaking my head, more to myself than to her as I continued up the stairs.

"Or if you don't want to go there, you can come help out at the store tomorrow. I'm pretty sure Mike will be there too, because he usually comes to help out during the holiday rush and I'm sure he'd love to see you again," she called up the stairs after me.

"I'll pass."

"Bella—"

"I'll pass, Mom. I'm going back to bed."

I spent the rest of that day and most of the following days holed up in my bedroom, only coming out to eat, drink, and for the occasional trip to the bathroom. I slept, ate, surfed (on the internet, of course), watched TV, and ignored a string of messages from Mike. I existed, spending as little time as possible with the two adults who shared the house with me which wasn't hard to do. Charlie spent the majority of his time either at the station, the local diner, or at a friend's house watching sports, while Renee flitted between Port Angeles and Forks, and wherever else she took herself when she wasn't at home.

By New Year's Eve, I was counting down the days until my return trip to Seattle. A part of me felt like I should be sentimental over the fact that this would be the last time I'd experience a semester break living in my parents' home since I had no intention of moving back after school. In fact, it was that sentimental feeling that had made me decide to stay in Forks over New Years instead of heading back a few days after Christmas like I normally did. Even though they drove me crazy, each in their own way, I figured we could put our familial dysfunction aside for one night, order some movies, sip some champagne, and ring in the New Year together.

So imagine my surprise that morning when my mother knocked on my door, informing me she was leaving for Port Angeles in a short while and once again inviting me along.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why, what?"

"Why are you going to Port Angeles again?"

"Because tomorrow is another big shopping day for Newton's and we need to get the store ready."

"Since when is Newton's open on New Year's Day? I thought everything was closed?"

"Bella, do you even read the emails I send you, sweetie? We started staying open on New Year's Day the year before last. Everyone's off and people want to shop. We do a lot of internet sales that day, too."

"But what about Charlie?" I asked, forgetting the fact that I normally only called them by their first names behind their backs.

"Charlie will be at the station, Bella. He always takes the New Year's Eve shift since no one's ever here," she said matter-of-factly, as if it was something I should have known. "Well, I guess you're not usually here over New Years so you wouldn't remember, but I'm sure I've told you this before. Anyway, you might as well come with me instead of sitting cooped up in this house by yourself. Maybe you can call Mike and see if he wants to join us."

"Good God, Mom, enough with Mike! Please stop trying to cram him down my throat!" I said, the frustration getting to me.

"Calm down, Bella. I know he's your only friend around here, and since our families are tied together and I know you two like each other, it just makes sense. I'm sorry if you feel like I'm trying to 'cram him down your throat.' That's not my intention." She stood in my doorway, silently observing me as I remained planted on my bed, trying to calm the sudden surge of anger and disappointment that had overcome me.

"Just get your stuff together and come with me. It's only for a couple of days. Besides, you still haven't checked out Shape Shifters and I really think you should before you head back home. I think you'd like it if you gave it a try."

_This_ again. Anger began bubbling thick and hot within me, a toxic fusion of disappointment over the fact that our last New Year's hurrah wouldn't be happening, anger over the time I'd wasted coming home in the first place, and fury at my mother's insistence on making _everything_ about my weight. I was hurt, angry at myself for feeling hurt, and ready to lash out.

"Why, Mom?" I asked, quietly.

"Why, what, Bella?"

"Why would you think I'd 'like it'? Seriously, Mom, do you even know me at all?"

"Of course I know you. And maybe it's not so much that you _do_ like it, as much as you _will_ like it once you give it a chance. Like I told you, this New Year should be all about the new you."

"I didn't realize there was a problem with the old me, but thanks, Mom. You're always great for the self-esteem."

"Bella, for once lose the sarcasm and just listen. You're so much like your father in all of the worst ways. Do you want to live your life from the cushion of a couch like your dad does, or I guess in your case, from your bed?" she asked, flailing her hand dramatically towards my current position on the bed before continuing. "Or do you want to be out and about like a normal young woman your age should be?"

"Can you leave Dad out of this? And for your information, I want to live my life the way _I_ want to live. Not according to the way _you_ think is best, not according to the way _anyone else_ thinks is best, but the way _I_ think is best."

"Bella, look at yourself!" she yelled, frustration coloring ever line of her face and tingeing every facet of her voice. I don't think you have any concept at all of what's best for you."

"And you do?" I asked, my voice as cold as ice.

"I probably have a little bit more insight than you, yes. You could learn a thing or two from me, Bella, if you'd let go of some of your post-teenage angst and recognize that."

"Learn from you, Mom? Which life lesson would you like me to learn? The one where you get knocked up as a teenager by some guy, or the one where you marry that guy, not out of love, but out of some warped sense of obligation? Or no, no, I've got it… the one where you decide to hell with your excess baggage, me and Dad included of course, and cavort around the state with your boy-toy, sorry, 'boss', who everyone knows you've been fuc—" My cheek was stinging and my eyes had pricked with tears long before my brain had time to register the slap. My mother glared at me, her eyes a cauldron of boiling fury, and her face a shade of red I hadn't previously known was humanly possible.

"I have allowed you a lot of liberties growing up," she began; her voice, though low and steady, barely contained her anger. "And I admit, sometimes I've treated you more like a friend than a parent, but do not forget who you are and who I am. You do not get to speak to me like that. Ever. You do not get to disrespect me like that. Ever. And I don't care how hurt your feelings are—I will not tolerate your viciousness, Bella. Every time I try to help you, every time I try to show you how much I care, you respond with anger, sarcasm, or some mixture of both. You have the emotional range of a two year old, but you are not a child anymore and it's time for you to grow the hell up, Bella."

The door slammed as my mother stormed away, angrier than I'd ever seen her. The picture frames on my walls had barely ceased swaying before I lost control of the angry hot tears that began trailing down my face.

x-x-x

"Bella, I don't know why you didn't just stay here this Christmas," Jane said after I'd recounted my latest parental entanglement to her in explanation of my sudden early reappearance at our Seattle apartment. I stood in her doorway, watching her as she moved around her room, pulling out jewelry and make-up in preparation for her impending night on the town. "I told you before you left, it's always the same shit. You and your dad speak a total of twenty words the entire time you're home, and you and your mom trade passive aggressive comments back and forth like little kids with Pokémon cards. Not to mention that vile Mike Newton—"

"Nothing vile has gone on between me and Mike for quite some time, Jane," I said, cutting her off before she started ranting again.

"Really?" she asked, one eyebrow arching, the skepticism oozing from her voice.

"Really," I replied sarcastically. "I just didn't felt like being bothered with him this break. Enough about me, though. I assume you and what's his face made good use of the vacant apartment this past week?"

"Who's what's his face?"

"The one you said you shared twin souls with, Alex I think."

"_Alec_, not Alex, and no, we broke up a few weeks ago, Bella. And if you must know, I did meet someone really great the other night and we've been hanging out."

"Which team?" I asked, abruptly.

"Excuse me?"

"Which team?"

"It's a guy, Bella. Heidi was a one-time thing. I'm strictly dickly from here on out."

"Okay, wow. I meant which _sports_ team. You know, your thing for athletes? And for the record, Heidi was a few weeks more than a one-time thing, and I remember because when you two went at it every night she sounded like a dying hyena in the throes of childbirth."

Shrill would have been another way to describe the weird laugh-cry-moan thing she had going. Those had been the most restless nights of my college life, lying in the bedroom next door, ear-buds in and iPod on—loud—as I desperately tried to block out the sound. Marilyn Manson was easy listening compared to the sounds of massacre going on next door. When they'd finally broken up, I actually kissed Jane in excitement before backing away, hoping I hadn't given her the impression I wanted to be her next walk on the alternative side of life.

"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten about that. I kind of liked her screaming. It was like validation or something. Everyone could use a little feedback once in a while."

"It wasn't screaming, it was howling."

"Howling, screaming, whatever. She was having fun," she said, gliding lipstick across her lips and staring appreciatively at her reflection in the mirror.

"Yes, well, to me it was just annoying. The end of your hetero-flexible phase was like the dawning of a new day for me."

"Don't be jealous, Bella. Maybe if you went out more, you'd have been doing some screaming of your own and wouldn't have been so worried about what was going on in my bedroom."

"Okay. One, I wasn't worried about it, I was assaulted by it, big difference— and two, I'm not a screamer. I'm the silent type," I said, moving from her doorway further into her room and settling on her bed.

"Sufferer in silence type? I'm sure Mike must love that."

"Ew, please keep the words 'Mike' and 'love' out of the same sentence. And I didn't say I was suffering, I'm just not much of a screamer."

"Whatever you say. I don't know why you subject yourself to that. Obviously the sex can't be that good if pushing your buttons makes you mute instead of turning up the volume. Tell me, what do you get out of it?"

"What kind of question is that, Jane? I don't even know how to answer that." I seemed to have developed a penchant for walking into conversations I wanted to avoid.

"It's an honest one. What do you get out of it?" she asked, turning to me as she began putting her earrings on.

"Seriously? You want to lecture me about my almost non-existent sex life?"

"I'm not lecturing you. But I'm your friend and I care about you. I just don't get why you keep going back to him. You don't seem to feel anything for him, I assume it's the same way for him, but you keep going back."

"Whoa, whoa, wait. What is this 'keep going back' crap? You act like we're in a relationship or something and I can't let him go. You know it's not like that. We've known each other forever and when we're both single and in the same place at the same time, things happen. As sexually liberated as you've always been, I can't understand why this bothers you so much. It's one guy, every now and then. No one gets hurt, and we both know it's casual. No blood, no foul."

"You don't think you're getting hurt?"

"We are so not having this conversation right now, Jane."

"You're right, we're not. And just so you know, we're not done. Right now, you need to go get ready so you can hang out with us tonight. We're hitting up the New Year's Eve bash at the EMP."

"Um, you know I don't really do parties."

"You don't do anything. That's part of the problem. But I'm not taking no for an answer so go, search your closet for something nice—no jeans! My friends are supposed to be here in forty-five minutes to pick me up. Demetri's coming too."

"Demetri? Is he the one who's turned you strictly dickly?" I asked, mimicking her earlier declaration.

"Yes, that's him and you'll meet him shortly, but first, go get ready!"

"Jane, the drive back was long and I'm tired—" _Not to mention emotionally drained_, I thought to myself.

"No excuses, Bella. You're too young to keep sequestering yourself from life. You're coming out and you're going to have fun if it kills you."

"It might," I muttered, standing up and heading towards my bedroom.

"Drama queen," she shot back.

"Bitch," I whispered under my breath.

"But you love me anyway," she sang, evidently having heard my not-so-quiet whisper.

Once in my room I threw open my closet, yanking and pulling clothes aside looking for something festive enough to wear to a New Year's Eve party. It had been a while since I'd had to dress up and because I usually hated the way I looked in most clothes, I dreaded the process on those rare occasions it became necessary. I could have counted the number of dressy and semi-dressy items my closet contained on one hand and after digging them out, I threw them all unceremoniously on my bed. My total haul equaled three silk tunics—two in flashy animal prints the sales lady said were supposed to make me look slimmer, and one a brilliant shade of blue—and a pair of my all purpose black dress pants. At least, _I_ called them dress pants. The fact that the fabric didn't stretch (intentionally) and wasn't denim classified them as dressy in my world of high fashion.

_Eeny, meeny, miny, oh, what the hell._

Yanking my sweatshirt over my head, I replaced it with the silky swath of blue fabric, turning slightly to observe myself in the mirrored closet door. It still fit, and for that I was thankful. It didn't exactly make me look like a princess, but I supposed it would pass muster for a New Year's Eve party. After all, everyone would be too drunk to care within a matter of hours.

After pulling out the iron and ironing board and carefully pressing my outfit, I hit the shower, not able to linger as long as I'd have liked. My mood was surprisingly light afterwards as I began slathering on generous amounts of lotion. It wasn't often that I went out for a night on the town with "friends". Although, maybe _friend_ was the more appropriate term. Jane was my friend, the others were just people I'd met or would soon meet through her who I never bothered to get to know in any real way. I'd never thought of myself as someone who needed, much less wanted, an active social life, but here I was, smiling to myself and even a little bit giddy at the thought of ringing in the New Year with a crowd of happy, cheering people—in person. Ryan Seacrest would have to make do without me this year.

I glanced at my bedside clock to check the time, and realizing I had a total of twelve minutes to completely dress myself, attempt the most rudimentary of makeup jobs, and have my hair looking somewhat presentable, I hurried about the room grabbing what I needed. I threw on some underwear and grabbed the pants off the bed, hurriedly jamming one leg through, precariously balancing myself on the other before repeating the action. The ease with which I was able to pull them up over my calves and past my knees evaporated like water in the desert somewhere north of my thighs and south of my butt. _Shit_. I'd met resistance before though; for a girl of my size, this wasn't anything new. It just meant I'd have to do a little more contorting, and a smidge of inhaling to get them where they needed to be, snugly gripping my waist. I decided to attack them one leg at a time, and turned my attention to my right, gathering slight folds of the material in my hands and deftly working them further up my leg as I squeezed my stomach and butt in as tight as I could get them. It didn't work. In vain, I turned to my left leg and attempted the same procedure only to be met with the same result—failure.

I stood there for a moment, staring at my half-dressed reflection in the mirror as my mind wrestled with itself over whether to laugh or to cry. Surprisingly, laughter came first. I wobbled over to the edge of my bed, hiking my foot up and pulling one pant leg off, followed quickly by the other, leaving them in an inelegant heap on the floor of my room. Explaining this to Jane was the last thing I wanted to do, choosing instead to march back over to my closet in search of some acceptable alternative, knowing all the while my chances of finding one were slim. Crawling on my hands and knees, I found two other pairs of black pants tucked away in a box at the back of my closet. I grabbed them, crawling back to the front of the closet and smoothing them out, only to find that both were smaller than the ones presently sitting abandoned on my bedroom floor. I glared across the room at the pants on the floor as if I was staring across enemy lines.

I searched my brain for the date of the last occasion I'd dressed up, and realizing it had only been four months before, my resolve grew as I stood up and stalked back towards my bed and snatched those black pants up again. There was no way my body could have changed that much in four months. I was going to get those pants on if it fucking killed me. Again, I angrily yanked them over my feet, pulling them up and continuing to pull long after they stopped cooperating. I inhaled deeply, sucking in my stomach and my butt until I felt the muscles in both burning in protest. My opponent was clearly a worthy adversary and unwilling to give an inch. Literally.

"Fuck!" I yelled in frustration, falling back on my bed. "Fuck, fuck, fuckity—"

"Bella?" Jane called, interrupting my sailor's litany.

"Demetri just texted me to tell me that they're here. Are you ready?"

"Not really," I called out, attempting, but failing, to keep the sound of defeat out of my voice.

"What's going on? Why do you sound upset?" Jane said, her voice coming closer to my closed door.

"Nothing. I'm fine. But just go without me, please. I really am tired and the more I think about it the more I would rather just—" I was cut off by the sound of the door opening as Jane's tiny frame came into view.

"Jane! What the hell!"

"Bella, what are you— oh." Jane's voice tapered off as her eyes glanced around the room falling on the clothes still thrown on my bed and the pants left discarded near the closet door, seeing everything and missing nothing, before landing on me. I was sure I could imagine what I must have looked like to her, my hair slowly frizzing in all of its post shower, untamed glory, my face flushed red from the exertion of trying to wrangle my pants into submission, and said pants mockingly stuck just short of their final destination.

"You used to have a black skirt that I think would go good with that shirt. Where is it?" she asked, not waiting for a response as she walked over to my closet. Something about the way she'd responded, instantly understanding the situation but not wanting to humiliate me any further than was already the case by directly addressing it, made my throat constrict and tears prick my eyes.

"Uh," I started, trying to steady my voice. "It doesn't fit anymore." I closed my eyes, not wanting to take the chance of having to make eye contact with her, even though her back was to me as she searched through my closet.

"Okay, those silver pants you wore to that banquet last—"

"Too small," I said, my voice barely a whisper as I squeezed my eyelids as tight as I could, hoping it would miraculously stop the flow that was attempting to break through.

"Hmm… Maybe a dress instead," she said, disappearing further into my closet.

"Jane," I whispered.

"Oh, I know! My high school graduation party! Remember that outfit you wore? I'm pretty sure I've seen it since then—"

"Jane!" I shouted, finding my voice and desperately wanting to put an end to this embarrassing exchange.

"You're going," she said fiercely, popping her head out of the closet and locking her gaze on me. I looked down, shaking my head slowly.

"You're going. I'm not taking no for an answer. You can throw some jeans on if you have to, but you're fucking going. I'm tired of this shit."

"Sorry," I whispered, the tears falling in earnest now. Jane sighed, abandoning her position at the closet and plopping down next to me on my bed.

"What the hell are you sorry about? Why are you apologizing to me? This is about you. You! Fuck! I'm the one who's sorry. I've sat on the sidelines watching you hurt yourself over and over again, never doing anything about it until—" She cut herself off, sighing and raking her hands through her hair. "What kind of person sits by and watches as her best friend slowly drowns herself?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper of its normal self.

"Jane, stop. You haven't done anything or _not_ done anything. I'm… I'm okay. I think I'm just dealing with post-holiday blues, the drama with my mama, and still trying to decompress from my trip home…" I paused. "And, I must have eaten a little more of Mrs. Newton's pecan pie than I'd realized. That's all. I didn't mean to get all emo on you on New Year's Eve," I said, wiping tears off my cheeks for the second time that day, and combing my fingers through my hair.

"_That's all_?" she said, bitingly, her eyes flashing. "So, you're sitting here on your bed, crying your eyes out and cursing like a sailor, with your pants stuck halfway between your ass and the floor, declining yet another invitation out because you're experiencing 'post holiday blues'? Are you fucking kidding me?" The venom in her voice brought me up short, but since anger was an emotion I was much better able to process, I responded in kind.

"I'm not interested in another lecture today. I've reached my quota for the day, thank you. I'm not going because I don't fucking feel like going and I'm not going to have you badger me into doing something I don't _want_ to do. It shouldn't matter to you whether I go or not anyway. Twenty minutes in, you'll be shit-faced and groping random people trying to line up your next fuck, and I'm not interested in playing baby-sitter tonight. And next time my door is closed, fucking knock before you bring your bony ass in, okay?" I said, hauling myself off the bed, dragging those damn black pants back down my legs, stepping out of them, and kicking them across the room. I walked over to my dresser, stepping past a stunned looking Jane, her face a mixture of anger, incredulity and… pity. I pushed thoughts of her away as I grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a comfortable t-shirt out of my drawer before heading into my bathroom and slamming the door.

It was quiet as I changed. I wasn't sure if Jane had left my room or would still be sitting there when I finally emerged. In either case, I took my time, hoping for the former but preparing for the latter before finally opening the door, and stepping out of the bathroom.

The room was empty. I strained my ears to catch any sounds in the apartment and realized it also was empty. She'd left, and I exhaled in relief. There would be plenty of time to apologize later and I knew we both would; we always did. For the moment, I didn't want to think about that or anything else of any substance. Making my way to the living room, I flipped on the TV, settling down on the couch to watch.

The minutes seemed to creep by as I stared, mostly unseeingly, at the screen in front of me. Bands played, Ryan Seacrest flitted on and off the screen, people smiled and whooped and hollered in the background, I grew bored… and hungry. I'd stopped at a drive-through along the way home, but my stomach began grumbling persistently, apparently indifferent to its earlier fried fortune. I trudged to the kitchen, rolling my eyes and sighing in disgust when I realized there was absolutely nothing satisfying to be found there. A search of the cabinets also resulted in disappointment. With the exception of one box of Jane's protein bars, three containers of soup, and two boxes of cereal, our cabinets were depressingly bare. I pulled out a stack of menus from a kitchen drawer and began calling around looking for restaurants still open and doing deliveries on New Year's Eve, eventually finding a pizza joint and ordering a large stuffed pizza with extra cheese, a two liter bottle of Pepsi and a small order of Buffalo wings.

"Ryan, you're just not rockin' my Eve," I muttered at the TV later that evening as I grabbed the remote, flipping the channels in hopes of finding something actually interesting to watch. Every station seemed to be either broadcasting live from some New Year's Eve party, or running the standard TV series marathon. I'd flipped past the _Three Stooges_, _Twilight Zone_, _South Park_, and the _Nanny_, coming to a stop when I flipped to a channel with a large man stepping onto a scale. _Big Fat Chance_. I angrily pressed the button for the next channel, silently cursing both of the show's beautifully clueless trainers, my mom, and Jane. Of course, it made perfect since that a station would be running a TV marathon for a weight loss show on New Year's Eve, but at that moment, it felt like the sickeningly sweet icing on the cosmic "pick-on Bella" cake I'd been force-fed all day.

"I'm fucking fine just the way I am!" I yelled out to no one in particular, before dropping my head into my hands. Then, for an unprecedented third time that day, I found myself choking back tears as I tried to suppress the small, but insistent, part of my brain unwilling to swallow that lie.

* * *

**A/N **I've come to terms with the fact that I don't write nearly as fast I wish I could. My fantasy self thinks she can bang out a chapter a week, my real self, well, yeah, not so much. Thanks for sticking with me.

If you've ever watched the Biggest Loser, then you know where my inspiration for this fictional show comes from. Since we're moving back to the Fat Farm, I'd love any suggestions you might have for future athletic challenges to put these characters through. They can be actual challenges that have been used on BL before, or something totally new. Just make sure there's an athletic component to it, and that it lends itself to the written word and not just TV.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I truly appreciate it.


	3. Chapter 3

If you've read my original one-shot, _Weighing In_, welcome to Edward's side of the story. The next chapter picks up where this chapter leaves off…

This was beta'd by the lovely **natty dread. **Thanks, and **HAPPY BIRTHDAY, bb**!!!

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I sent her an email asking her to share, but so far she hasn't responded.I'll let you know when she does, but in the meantime, what's hers is hers and what's mine is not worth the paper it's not printed on.

* * *

**~*…Edward...*~**

"Edward, wait up!"

Growing up, I'd always had a thing for nature shows. There was something about the cycle of life and death, the stalking nature of the predator and the fight or flight response of its prey that fascinated me in ways I couldn't fully explain—the predator, its eyes pinned unwaveringly on its prey as it stalked ever closer, the intended victim finally noticing its would-be killer, the thrill of finding out who the victor would be. That very random train of thought went barreling through my head as I made my way across the _Big Fat Chance_ farm, debating whether to turn and acknowledge my hunter or flee as if my life depended on it.

Against my instincts and all sense of self-preservation, I stopped, closing my eyes and sighing before reopening them, planting a fake smile on my face and turning to greet my pursuer.

"Lauren," I stated simply, exhaustion evident in my voice. I'd just arrived on the farm for the new season of _Big Fat Chance _that morning, and I was already too tired to participate in the ridiculously obvious and overly tiresome mating dance that seemed to be par for the course with her.

"Hey! You rushed out of the production meeting so quickly I didn't have a chance to speak with you."

I watched the overly processed, unnatural blonde as she sauntered closer, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth in a flirtatious smile which I was sure she intended to be seductive, because, well, Lauren Mallory intended everything to be seductive. If there was a way to pee seductively, I was pretty sure Lauren would have mastered it and posted it on YouTube for the entire world to see. She was a walking, talking, _come hither_ sign—the tacky kind with the annoying buzzing sounds and blinking neon lights—and I was trying my best, and had been trying for the past three seasons, to counteract it with my own _couldn't care less_ sign. She hadn't gotten the message. Clearly my sign wasn't as flashy as hers.

"It's so good to see you again," she said, finally reaching me and instantly pressing herself against me in what I supposed was her attempt at a hug. I responded with a one-handed pat on her back before carefully extracting myself from her grip. For the life of me, I could not bring myself to return her enthusiasm and utter a lie, even a socially acceptable white one. Instead, I forced another smile.

"Hey, Lauren. What have you been up to?"

"Oh, you know, a little bit of this, a little bit of that. I spent most of my time off in Europe, modeling by day and enjoying the nightlife by night. You know how that goes."

No, I actually didn't, but I wasn't going to say that and in anyway give her the impression that I wanted additional details.

"So, where are you running off to?" she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder before nestling her arm within my own.

"I'm heading to Riley's office to talk some things over in private with him before we begin taping today," I answered as I continued heading toward my destination—now with Lauren hanging off my arm like a leech.

"Is this about the schedule? I don't know why they insist on having you guys stay here during the week. If I were you, I'd have made sure that part of the contract was taken out. My agent insisted on that from season one and I'm so glad he thought of it."

"I'm fine with the overnights. It doesn't bother me. We still have weekends free, and we can leave during the week too as long as we've cleared it with Production and made sure it won't conflict with the show's taping."

"Doesn't that wreak havoc on your time with your lady-friend? What's her name? Tina?"

"Her name was Tanya, _is_ Tanya. Her name _is_ Tanya. She still exists— we just don't anymore." That made a lot more sense in my head than it did coming out. "She and I aren't together anymore," I clarified.

"That's a shame," she said, looking as though it were anything but. "Well, I've told you before, I don't understand you guys who try to have meaningful relationships with people who aren't in the business. In my opinion, it's a recipe for disaster. Most girls are going to be too insecure to handle a guy with your lifestyle."

"The business didn't break us up. I just couldn't be what she was looking for, so I let her go." She mockingly arched an eyebrow at me.

"How very gallant of you, Edward. I'm sure she appreciated your selfless gesture even if it is the biggest load of bullshit I've heard in a while."

Actually, she had appreciated it, eventually. Our break-up hadn't been nearly as difficult as I'd convinced myself it would be. Of course, I lost my nerve the night I'd resolved to let her go. She just seemed so damn happy being there with my family, and I was a "pansy-ass bitch" (as Emmett lovingly called me) when it came to things like that. But I had eventually ended it— a few months later. She hadn't been pleased with my decision, and made it clear that she thought I was wrong. She accused me of "searching for something unattainable," despite my insistence that I wasn't "searching" for anything. But in the end, we did manage to remain friends. Although I was convinced she was still hoping I would eventually see the light and pick back up where we'd left off.

"It's not bullshit, Lauren. She's great, wonderful, awesome. She just wanted things I couldn't give, and I figured it was better to be honest about that than to keep pretending I could be what I'm not."

"You don't owe me an explanation. I've told you before, Edward, I'm not your typical girl. I get it. I know exactly what you want and I know exactly what you need because I want and need the same things. You're young, single, sexy as hell—you should be having fun with someone equally young, single and sexy as hell. Don't you think?"

I stiffened. Not the part of me _she_ was probably aiming for, but the rest of me. Somewhere along this very short conversational journey we were on, the tone had become less conversational and more propositional. I'd like to say it surprised me, but I'd be lying because most conversations with Lauren eventually took that turn. I didn't know what it was about me that seemed to call to her so strongly. The only explanation I could wrap my head around was the fact that I had never answered the call. It could only be the thrill of the chase. Lauren was not the type of girl who heard "no" frequently, if at all, especially not from one of us, the standard-bearers of the true weaker sex. I was under no illusion that she really wanted _me_—just everything she thought I represented. Lauren would sink her teeth into me and suck me dry, leaving my carcass to wither in the sun if I ever let my guard down enough for her to find her way in.

Granted, she was Hollywood's ideal of the perfect woman— slim build, long legs, tiny waist, huge breasts, tight ass, etcetera. She just wasn't _my_ ideal, but little details like that didn't seem to matter to her. Over the past few seasons since I'd met her, she'd found so many different ways to 'accidentally' press herself up against me that as a result, I was now sure that her breasts were a financial acquisition, and I was pretty certain her ass was too. Not that I was judging; her body was hers to alter as she saw fit. I just wished she'd stop trying to force me along for the ride.

"Relax, playboy. I'm not getting ready to jump you right here out in the open, unless that's something you're into, in which case, we should talk later. I actually wanted to invite you to a party I'm supposed to attend this Saturday in Beverly Hills. It's another one of those 'see and be seen' kind of deals that my agent thinks is important. I need some arm-candy to help make sure I'm noticed, and you and I together will definitely make that happen."

While being asked out on a date by Lauren Mallory had to be up there on the list of things every guy wished he could have, my enthusiasm was non-existent. Emmett, on more than one occasion, had questioned my sexuality for not having gone there with her yet, considering how obvious she'd made it that I was a shiny new boy-toy she wanted to add to her collection.

"Plus, it'll give you a chance to take a relaxing walk on the beautiful side of life before you're subjected to the next sixteen weeks of this zoo with its angry hordes of hungry, hungry hippos."

But there, in a ridiculously small nutshell, was my beef with Lauren Mallory. Although she'd been fortunate enough to be born with great genes and was now wealthy enough to purchase whatever hadn't been gifted naturally, both nature and nurture had failed miserably when it came to shaping her personality. I'd be lying if I said there hadn't been a time in the beginning when I'd considered the possibility of more with her. After all, when a woman's first words to you are "God, I'd love for you to work _me_ out," and she looks like a walking, talking replica of a Playboy pin-up come to life, it's hard not to at least _think_ about.

Lucky for me, when the next sentence out of her mouth had been "being around all these fat fucks is going to necessitate a work-out because I swear I feel fatter just looking at them," any thoughts, fleeting or otherwise, about the two of us being anything other than colleagues disappeared. Vapidity was tiresome, and Lauren had it in excess.

"You're too kind, but I'm going to have to pass. I'm trying something different this season, and that requires me to be available to the contestants as much as possible."

"Come on, Edward, they're not going anywhere. Besides, I'm sure the first weekend here will be hell, what with all of them going through fast-food withdrawal and everything. Let the personal assistants do the dirty work while you come play with me. Trust me. My career will have more staying power than any changes these people try to make."

"Look, Lauren, I take what I do here seriously, and I'm not going to leave it to a PA to do the job I'm paid the big bucks to do. Thanks for the offer, but I'm going to stay here this weekend." Her egotistical nature irked me more than it should. I'd known Lauren for some time now, and although I knew that she was the only person at the center of her world, I still detested the fact that she seemed surprised that she wasn't at the center of everyone else's as well.

"I'm not trying to be pushy here. I just think you should really take more interest in meeting some of the Hollywood players. I know we've got quite a good set-up here—the money is nice, the exposure is good, but you should always be looking for the next big thing and you'll never find it if you're too reclusive to get out and meet people. I've been focused on what comes next from the first day I signed up to host this thing, and if you care at all about your future in this business, you should be too."

"I'm aware, and I appreciate your concern. But instead of plotting and planning my next career move, I'm trying to make sure that I'm doing the best that I can with the job that I have. So, again, I'm going to have to pass, and I guess I'll just have to pray that my future doesn't implode because of it."

We came to a stop outside of the office door. She narrowed her eyes and sighed in obvious irritation, apparently not too dense to have missed the sarcasm in my retort.

"Fine. Whatever. It's your loss. I refuse to get down on my knees and beg you."

"Lauren Mallory on her knees—now there's an image every man wants to see," came a deeper voice, interrupting Lauren's temper tantrum. We both turned toward the new arrival and watched as the tall lanky man with dark blond hair and a face that made him look half his forty-something years approached. Riley Biers, one of _Big Fat Chance's_ executive producers, threw one arm around me and the other around Lauren as he guided us closer to his office door.

"Fuck you, Riley," Lauren spat, disentangling herself from underneath his arm. "Edward, you know where to find me if you change your mind. I'll see you… whenever," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she stalked off.

I wanted to believe her irritation with me would be long lasting. Unfortunately, I'd already learned that neither the subtle nor obvious sarcastic jabs I took at her ever landed hard enough to keep her away permanently. She'd be back again. I was sure of it.

Riley chuckled as he watched her leave, quickly dropping his arm from around my neck.

"Man, is that woman still trying to catch you?" he asked, turning and opening the door to his make-shift office.

"She doesn't understand the concept of 'no'," I said, shaking my head and following behind him.

"Lauren's a fun one, Eddie my boy. It wouldn't hurt you to let her catch you for once. Then maybe she can move on to someone else."

"You've gone there?" I asked dubiously. Little & Brown had pretty strict policies regarding relationships between the on-air talent and behind the scenes crew. Off-screen drama and onscreen drama rarely mixed well.

"Quite a few times, actually. Let's just say her off-camera talents are far more impressive than her on camera ones."

"And your wife?" I asked pointedly, still taken aback by the news that he and Lauren had been together and apparently on more than one occasion, and yet she still pursued me with the persistency of a bitch in heat. I wondered what else had gone on around me that I'd been completely oblivious to.

"Not my wife for much longer, thank God. It's taking forever to pry that woman's cold dead hands from around my nut-sack, but after countless deals with the devil herself, three attorneys, and thousands of dollars in legal bills later, the divorce is almost final. Take it from me, Edward, a no-strings-attached girl like Lauren is man's best friend, but since I'm sure you're not here for a chat about my love-life, what can I do for you?" He walked over to his desk, turning on his laptop before plopping down in his roller chair and turning to face me.

"Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about some things before we start taping. I've been trying to catch you but it's been difficult."

"You know how crazy things are with the start of a new season. But you've got me now, so what's up?"

"I've been giving a lot of thought to my role on _Big Fat Chance_ these past few months, and I've decided I want to take a new approach this season. I think I might be able to get through to the contestants more effectively if I try to tone it down a bit—a little less sarcasm, a little more encouragement, more one-on-one time with the contestants."

"Why would you do that? Everyone loves you, Edward. The Cullen temper is legendary and makes for great TV. Every time you reduce one of them to tears, our ratings skyrocket. America eats that shit up. Don't change a thing."

"I know it makes for great ratings, but this is really about more than just that. We're trying to change lives, aren't we?" He studied me a moment, the way you might stare at someone streaking through a football stadium—part surprise, part disbelief, part humor.

"We're here to make good TV, nothing more, nothing less. If people's lives get changed in the process, well then, good for them, but always keep your eye on the prize. If we don't attract the eyeballs, we don't get paid—we go off the air and no one's life gets changed. Don't forget that."

"Right, yeah, no, I know, I just—"

"You're just a good kid with a bleeding heart. I get it, but keep that shit under wraps while you're here. You've got a job to do and contrary to what you might think, it's not to change lives. I've gotten where I am by doing what works, and I'm sure the same applies to you. This works. Why fix what isn't broken?"

"I get it, Riley. Business as usual."

"You're damn right it's business as usual. 'Business as usual' is what's going to pay my wife's alimony for the next few years. 'Business as usual' is what paid for all the work Lauren has had done to morph herself into the sex kitten she is, and don't forget, 'business as usual' pays for that expensive car fetish you have. That's your shiny black Vanquish I saw parked out back, isn't it?" He wasn't expecting an answer, so I didn't provide one. Irritation crawled along my skin as I tried to figure out why at that moment my car fetish, as he called it, made me feel just as uninspired and materialistic as he and Lauren were.

"Look lively my friend, we start taping in a little more than an hour. You should probably get down to wardrobe and makeup." With that, our conversation was over, and the ideas that I'd been ruminating over for the past ten months had been carelessly dismissed without even the grace of a flick of his wrist.

"Yeah, I'll do that," I called over my shoulder as I walked out of his office, much less excited about the next sixteen weeks of my life.

As I scanned the crowd of potentials a little while later, a sea of excited faces all clad in black tees boldly proclaiming their states of residence looked back at me. Thirty-six of them would be heading back home in a week's time, most destined to return to the habits and lifestyles that had brought them here in the first place. Only fourteen would make the first cut, and then it would be a weekly race for survival to lose as much weight as possible to make it to the end and hopefully be crowned the winner of _Big Fat Chance_. That was the object of the game, and though I understood it, I hoped, even more so now than before, that the goal of improved health and quality of life ranked higher than the financial reward dangling like a carrot at the finish line. Only one person could walk away with the grand prize, but _everyone_ could potentially end up a winner. At least that's how I was determined to see it through my new Pollyanna tinted glasses.

A familiar face jumped out at me from the crowd and it only took a second for me to place the face. _Bella Swan_. Even though I'd spoken to Ben about her a few times since I'd first seen her audition tape and knew she'd received a call-back, I wasn't sure if she'd agreed to compete on the show once the shock of finding out she'd been selected to compete wore off. She'd been on my mind off and on for months, having unknowingly become the inspiration behind my yet to be debuted (now stymied) new and improved, more sensitive training techniques. I'd become a regular at the Borders bookstore closest to my home, and though there was no _Highly Effective Non-Verbally Abusive Physical Training Guide for Dummies _(I'd have to talk to my agent about writing one because there should have been), I was the proud new owner of several dozen self-help _for Dummies _books geared toward teaching everything there was to know (in four hundred pages or less) about the art of communicating, motivating, coaching and mentoring effectively.

From what I remembered of Bella, aside from the pornographic food moaning, she should have graduated by now and I wondered what she'd ended up doing with herself afterward. Decked out in a black t-shirt with the word "Washington" sprawled across it, she stood silently, excitement clear on her face, her hand captured in a death grip by the state of Pennsylvania. I didn't know how to interpret the excitement on her face. Did it mean she'd come to terms with the fact that she needed help? Had she embraced the idea of being here? Was she ready to have her life changed? Riley's words came flooding back to me at that moment, and I frowned to myself, deciding to ignore whatever quack advice he'd given and go with what my heart and my pricey new book collection was telling me to do.

Despite what he seemed to think, _I_ was here to change lives and I saw nothing incompatible about doing so while still making compelling TV. I'd prove it was possible. I could own a Vanquish, a Ferrari and a shiny silver Volvo, and still give a damn about changing someone's life. Fuck Riley and his jaded indifference. He wasn't the show's creator, he was just a producer, and if I wanted to get in touch with my softer side, damn it, I would, and no one was going to be able get in the way of that.

Except Bella Swan.

x-x-x

The road to hell is paved with the best laid plans of mice and men. That was going to be the opening line of my soon-to-be written self-help _for Dummies_ guide, though after the disaster that was our very first training session, I was thinking my book would be less _How To_ and more _How _Not_ To_.

Things had started off promising. Shortly after I'd arrived, Ben yelled out the group assignments, splitting the fifty contestants from the fifty states into two groups. Coincidentally, Bella ended up in my group. At least it seemed like a coincidence until Ben exited the stage and walked over to me, saying, "Hey, I gave you the group with your girl in it."

"My girl? Who? Bella? She's not my girl," I said, bristling at the way that could be interpreted. "This is a gossipy town. Let's try not to get any rumors started on the first day, Ben."

"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. It was just a figure of speech. It's my first time on the farm, remember? All I meant was that I know you had your eye on her a while back and I figured you'd want first crack. I've got to tell you, she wouldn't be my pick to win this at all, but then only one of us has been the winning trainer for three seasons in a row."

I thought about trying to explain to him that my interest in Bella Swan had nothing to do with her potential to win and everything to do with her potential to succeed, but decided against it. He wouldn't have understood the distinction anyway.

I led my twenty-five contestants, Montana through Wyoming to be exact, into the farm's gym and had them take up positions on the floor mats. I began leading them through a series of stretches to gently prepare their bodies for the pounding I was going to unleash. Getting in touch with my sensitive side didn't mean I was going to be easy on them. Easy was what had brought them here. I was bringing the pain—affectionately, of course.

They stretched— arms raised, legs extended, necks rolling from side to side. Some of them took to the light exercises with a grace that belied their heavier frames, others, not so much. I walked among them, observing each one's effort, correcting basic forms, and giving words of encouragement. I eventually ended up in front of Bella Swan who was sitting on the floor, both legs pointed straight in front of her as she attempted to bend her upper body over enough to touch her face to her thighs. She made it about half way there before she stopped.

"Bend over a little more," I said gently. Her head flew up, her brown eyes wide with surprise, as she met mine.

"That's as far as I can go," she replied.

"You can go further," I responded. "Try to stretch those muscles until you feel the burn in your hamstrings." She held my gaze a few seconds longer before audibly sighing and once again resuming the forward stretch. She made it half way again and stopped.

"No. I really can't go any further. The art of pretzel contortion isn't one of those things I studied in college." Ordinarily, I'd have made her continue trying until I thought she'd reached as far as she could go. But my leaf had been turned, so instead I smiled at her in response. She had a sense of humor. I could appreciate that. I'd take a funny contestant over a moody contestant any day. Since she felt she'd reached her limit, I'd move on to another hamstring stretch instead of pushing her on this one.

"Spread your legs." Her eyes widened perceptibly as color flushed her face. It took a second for me to understand her reaction. Yeah, I'm not always the sharpest tool in the shed, but by the time I did, she'd recovered.

"What, no dinner, no movie?" Peals of laughter erupted around us, and I could tangibly feel some of the first day's tension leaving the room.

"Nice. Everyone spread your legs in a 'V' formation. We're stretching the inner hamstring muscles now," I called out as I walked back to my place in front of the contestants. They did, and I joined them on the floor, using my body to demonstrate the way I wanted them to fold themselves over each leg, one at a time, to stretch the muscles in their backs, abdomens and hamstrings. As I sat up to observe their progress, my eyes found Bella who at the moment was the only person still sitting straight up and not even attempting to mimic my movements.

"Is there a problem?"

"I really can't bend that far over."

"Try."

She sighed.

"I did."

"Try again."

"Seriously?"

"You may not be able to get all the way down, but you could at least try to get most of the way there." She sighed and bent her torso over in a half-hearted effort to follow through.

"Further." She sighed again, exasperated. What was with all of the damn sighing? The girl was going to blow out a lung if she kept it up, and I was starting to get a little exasperated myself. This was as easy as things were going to get. If she couldn't put forth the effort for basic stretches, my actual work-out would kill her.

Her gaze locked with mine, and that aforementioned evaporated tension? It returned with the force of a runaway freight train. Some of the other contestants quieted, and one of the cameramen, Jimmy, moved quickly to take up a position in front of Bella, circling like a shark sensing blood.

Our stare-off continued for a few seconds more before she turned her attention to Jimmy, leveling him with a withering gaze. She snatched the rubber band thingie that held her ponytail in place, letting her hair fall around her face like a silky brown curtain as she bowed her head, dramatically lowering her torso, and—you guessed it—sighing, as she attempted another half-hearted stretch.

My inner asshole clawed at my insides, begging to be released, but I held him off, deciding instead to kill her with kindness.

"Thank you. That's much better." It wasn't, and she knew it, but this wasn't a battle I wanted to continue so I took the high road, the road less traveled (at least by me), and let it go.

I had them do ten more minutes of stretching, only occasionally glancing over at Bella who continued to put the "lack" in "lackluster" but deciding not to engage her further. She was probably just nervous, and the attention I was giving her most likely wasn't helping.

We finished with stretches, and I asked (instead of telling— in keeping with my new state of Zen) each one of them to take a position on one of the dozens of treadmills that lined the walls of the large room. A couple of production assistants walked in, handing out full water bottles to each contestant as I explained the importance of staying hydrated. I gave them a quick tutorial on working the machines as a few guys from the camera crew darted into place between them. They lived for this—capturing those first inevitable looks of surprise, terror and regret in the faces of the contestants as the reality of what they'd all signed up for hit them with the force of a sledge hammer.

"Alright everyone, turn them on. I want your speed at 3.0, and let's get this season started." There were a few whoops of excitement, a couple of groans, and the hum of a couple dozen treadmills all powering to life.

Minutes ticked by as I moved around the gym, throwing out "good jobs" and "keep up the pace" comments like candy at a parade. Only, instead of wide smiles, they gave back grunts, and the occasional grin-mace, an attempt at a grin high-jacked by a grimace of pain—my favorite. It meant they were feeling the burn.

"I'm Edward Cullen, as I'm sure you all know by now, and this is your official welcome to _Big Fat Chance_. How's everybody feeling so far?"

The bravest amongst them, a hefty blond guy who was positioned on the very first treadmill, blue eyes cold as steel as he met my gaze with pure stoicism and determination, let out a primal growl before yelling, "Is that all you've got?" Oh, I liked him already. The cocky ones were the most fun to break.

"Are you kidding, Tex?" I asked after glancing at his shirt. "This isn't even big enough to qualify as a taste of the hurt you all are going to be feeling after today. Alright, people, crank up the speed. I want each of you up to a speed of 3.5 and I want you to increase your incline to two. Let's show those folks at home you've got what it takes!" There were fewer whoops of excitement and a few more groans as the musical hum of the machines increased in pitch. I watched, still pacing the room slowly to gauge each contestant's progress. The smiles were gone, and almost all of the camera-ready grin-maces had converted from "grin" to full on "grim." Jimmy and his crew frantically weaved in and out between the aisles getting close-up shots of the contestants with the most expressive 'O' faces—'O' as in "Oh, for the love of all that is holy, what the hell am I doing here?" that is.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Jimmy crouching down by one of the treadmills, directing the camera up into the face of one Bella Swan. She was staring directly at me, her face a strange mixture of emotions— one part pain, that was obvious, the other part… dazed adoration? That didn't make sense. Pain? Yes. Regret? Even better. Adoration? Clearly, I wasn't working her hard enough. As I stood there practicing my non-existent face reading skills, the various emotions caravanning across hers careened to a sudden halt as her eyes squinted closed and her face bunched up into a look of pure agony. _Ah, now _that's_ the look I wanted to see_.

I smiled to myself, sliding my gaze to the contestant next to her, a young guy with skin the color of cinnamon whose head and face were dripping so much sweat that his shirt had turned a deeper shade of black as a result.

"You're doing good, Oregon. Are you feeling that burn, yet? Are you loving that feeling of your muscles coming to life after years of disregard?"

"Yes, sir," he shouted back between halting breaths. I could tell he was ready to collapse with exhaustion, but he was using every bit of strength he possessed to keep himself going.

"How much do you want to be here, Oregon?"

"Very much, sir!" His eyes darted to mine—fear and utter fatigue roiling through them.

"How bad do you want this, Oregon?"

"Very bad, sir!" A look of determination edged its way onto his face. I liked this kid.

"How old are you, Oregon?"

"I'm eighteen, sir."

"Your momma trained you well. You can call me Edward. Keep up the good work."

"Thank you, Si—Edward."

I kept moving, my gaze landing on Pennsylvania, the tiny contestant next in line. Well, I supposed _tiny_ wasn't the best descriptor. She was short, I would guess less than five feet, but I could tell body-mass wise, she was probably one of the heaviest of the female contestants in my group, if not the heaviest. She, too, was sweating profusely, her face a deep shade of pink, her hair a black sticky mess of tendrils glued to her face, and her eyes somewhere far away. Despite her size, she was keeping pace well, and although she wore the same pained expression all the other contestants wore, she wasn't wavering. I hated to bring her out of whatever zone of concentration she'd entered, but my job was to pick the strongest seven from this group, and in order to do that, each of these people needed to be tested.

"Pennsyl—"

"Okay, I think we need to stop." The abrupt interruption cut off my words as my eyebrows knitted in irritation, my attention pulled back in the direction I'd just come from. _Bella Swan_. Of course, it would be Bella Swan again.

"We just barely started. Why do you want to stop?" In truth, I'd had them going for at least an hour and a half at this point, but endurance was going to be a trait they would have to master quickly if they were going to survive on the farm. Their typical work-outs would span an ordinary person's work day—a fact they'd all been made aware of.

"Um… this is hurting like hell, Edward, and I'm pretty sure something's going to tear that wasn't meant to be torn, so I'd like to stop. Now." Bella Swan giving up, now there was a sight I hadn't seen in—oh, wait, that's right—that's all I _had_ seen so far. Enough was enough, though. Using kid gloves with her clearly wasn't going to work.

"No," I said, turning away from her and directing my attention back to Pennsylvania. Short, sweet, to the point, no verbal fireworks necessary—that would shut her up. I had a firm grip on my delicate patience now, no thanks to Bella Swan.

"No?!" A firm grip, that is, until it slipped.

"No. That's why you're here, because you've always given up too easily. What has giving up ever gotten you before, except one hundred plus pounds of extra body fat, a few stretch marks, bad posture, and a pretty pathetic love affair with food? I mean, come on! You moan when you eat! Who does that?"

_Well, shit. _Not only had my patience slipped, it had plunged straight down to the gym floor, crashing into a million pieces and slicing Bella with a few shards along the way. I could still salvage this though. I just had to think.

_Cage your inner asshole, Cullen, and retake control. She probably doesn't mean to question your know-how. She's just expressing her resistance to change, which is perfectly acceptable and maybe even a little understandable given the amount of pressure she feels to conform for which you, as her leader, need to—_

"Ow! I don't think it's supposed to burn like this!"

_Oh, fuck the self-help bullshit._ She _was_ questioning my know-how, and I didn't appreciate it.

"And you would know that how? It burns. It's supposed to. Consider it your body's way of sending you a big fat 'fuck you very much' for the way you've treated it throughout your life."

"Can you not be such an ass? Seriously?"

Me the ass? Me the ass? Really_?_ That softer side of Edward Cullen I'd been flirting with turned to ice as I spun around, stalking closer to her treadmill and unleashing the fire she'd been stoking all afternoon.

"You knew my style before you came. You know how we do things here. You know how I operate. If you can't handle me, you shouldn't have come. If you can't handle this, you shouldn't be here." My voice was like marble— smooth, cold and hard. "This is not a damn picnic in a meadow. This is real. This is grow up, take responsibility and get your shit together time. I thought that was why you came, but if it's not, do yourself and your fellow contestants a huge favor and leave now. Look around the gym. Do you want this as much as they want this? There are forty-nine other people here ready to change their lives. Why are you here? I thought this was your time. Is this your time?! Is this your _Big Fat Chance_?"

Her gaze flitted toward the other contestants before coming back to rest on me. She was quiet, which was unexpected. I thought maybe I'd _finally_ gotten through to her until I noticed that the belt of her treadmill was moving slower than the ones around her and realized that at some point she'd either reduced her speed or never increased it to begin with.

"Pick up your pace."

"No." This girl was going to be the death of me if I didn't kill her first.

"No is not an option. Pick up your pace, Bella!"

"No! I need a break, okay?! We can't all be chiseled gods with endless endurance and the fucking fountain of youth dripping out of our pores! You're pushing me and my body a little too hard right now and I'm taking a damn break."

She stalked toward the gym door, Jimmy tracking her every move. Within seconds she was gone and with her went the irony of the fact that the very girl who'd unknowingly inspired my decision to approach my job differently was the same one who personified its failure.

x-x-x

"Pennsylvania!" I called, trying to get the attention of the short, black-haired lady. It was later in the afternoon, and after having given the contestants some time to relax and refresh after their work-out, Rosalie and I had just finished going over some pointers on basic nutrition with them. Bella hadn't been there, and I hadn't seen her at all since she'd stormed out of the gym.

"Alice. Brandon. Alice Brandon, or Mary Alice Brandon even, if you'd prefer. It's a southern thing. Don't ask me about it. My mom was a southern belle and my father a Yankee, and they had one of those epic cross country, cross cultural romances, really, because let's face it, the North and the South can be like two totally different countries sometimes. So since you can take the girl out the South but can't take the South out of the girl, or something like that, I ended up with Mary Alice, though I tend to only go by Alice although I don't think I'd object to Mary Alice. But a whole state? Come on, really? I did overhear my high school crush tell his best friend that I was as big as a house on more occasions than was probably good for my sanity, but since I'm here to change my life and leave all of that behind me, it seems oddly oxymoronic that I'd lose the lovely 'house' analogy and end up a whole state, don't you think?"

_Whoa_.

"I'm sorry, _Alice_." I said her name with emphasis, least I be bludgeoned with another diatribe as long as the first. "I saw you grab Bella's water bottle from the gym earlier. Have you seen her since then?"

"I have." I waited for an elaboration, but there was none.

"Where?"

"In my room."

"Do you know where she is now?"

"Since she's not down here I would guess she's still there." Really, I didn't understand how she'd gone from speaking more words in one minute's time than most people spoke in an hour, to having to have them pried from her lips like a treasure.

"Is something wrong with hers?"

"Wrong with her what?"

"Her room. You said she's in yours. Is something wrong with hers?"

"We share a room."

"Well why didn't you just say that the first time?"

"You didn't ask."

"Are you always this cryptic?" Annoying. I meant annoying, but I'd already succeeded in thoroughly pissing off one contestant today and I wasn't aiming to insult another.

"No, actually, I'm not. I'm just not sure what I think about you yet, Edward Cullen. No offense. Don't get me wrong, I think you're good at what you do. But that little display you put on in the gym today with her? I'm not sure how I feel about that. I've had my share of dealing with guys like you, and while I understand you're the ticket to my healthy future and all that jazz, I hope you don't mind me being blunt, but I'm not sure I like you very much at the moment. Again, no offense. But that could change. I'm nothing if not forgiving and I'm willing to forgive you, I suppose, but you may have to earn it."

She lost me somewhere around the first "no."

"Bella?"

"What about her?"

"Can you tell me where your—her—room is so I can speak to her?"

"Don't you mean Washington?"

"Huh?"

"Bella. Shouldn't she be Washington? If I'm a state, it's only fair that she be a state too. Are you giving her preferential treatment?"

"Did it look like she was getting preferential treatment?"

"Point taken. You know you could just wait for her to come down here."

"I could, but I'd prefer to speak to her away from the cameras, if that's all right with you."

"Second floor, end of the hall, last door on the right. It's the one with '210' on the door."

I shook my head in confusion before thanking her and turning to walk toward the staircase. If everything with these contestants was going to feel like pulling teeth, I was in for a rough season.

"And Edward?" I stopped to look at her.

"Please don't forget, this isn't easy for any of us. Clearly, we're people who haven't learned how to process emotions in a healthy way. You can't even imagine how humbling this is, trying to do that now in a room full of strangers, who for better or for worse, at some point, are all going to be gunning to get you out all while a cameraman stays firmly wedged up your ass. It's not easy."

"I know, Alice. I do. Thank you."

A few minutes later I was standing outside of room 210, knocking on the door, prepared to offer my act of contrition. Somehow I'd ended up locked in a power struggle with Bella Swan, and although I was still confused as to how that had happened so quickly, I wasn't happy with the way I'd lost control. She'd been my first real test of my new resolve, and I'd failed. Miserably.

I heard her tell me to come in and I opened the door, taking a deep breath as I swallowed my pride, ready to offer my sincerest apology over a nice firm handshake.

Except, I couldn't. Because she was naked. Not _naked_ naked, but definitely naked. With the exception of a barely there towel, it was all her. It was one of those moments when your brain grinds to a screeching halt as you try to reconcile your mind's expectations (clothes) with the reality before your eyes (no clothes), and when those two don't match up, your brain hits "pause" and waits for common sense to rescue it.

_Why the hell is she naked? Better yet, why the hell is she naked and inviting me in? Shit. What if someone else came up here and found me, with her naked? Shit._

Even in my head, that sounded weird and it conjured up an image of me being naked in the same room with naked Bella. _Oh, great, now she's naked Bella_. And just like that, because clearly my brain was enjoying its moment in the sun to thoroughly fuck with me, the echo of a seriously breathy moan started rattling its way through my brain as I recalled my first introduction to Bella Swan. Now I felt like a pervert. A real, certifiable pervert for layering that sound, which was totally innocent, on top of this image. And she was standing there, a little dazed, very confused, and all of a sudden, the power came back on upstairs, _thank you, brain_, and I scrambled to explain myself before she, too, could come to the conclusion that I was, in fact, certifiably a pervert.

"Your roommate told me I could find—" She'd started saying something at the very same time so I stopped, but I didn't have a clue what that was because now that my brain had decided to grace me with its presence again, all I could think about was the fact that I needed to leave. Now.

"I'll just talk to you later," I said, grabbing for the door.

"Wait!" I stopped, turning around in surprise at the fact that she wasn't screaming profanities at me. I'd expected verbal confirmation of my perversion along the lines of "you pervert!" So, "wait" was a bit of a surprise. Although, maybe she was one of those women who wanted to punctuate her scream with a hearty slap to the face. But I supposed a slap might be warranted. I had, after all, put her in a compromising position. Compromising position?Now I was thinking about_—_

She was talking again, but unfortunately it coincided with my brain short-circuiting, and had she just asked me why I was looking at her? I wasn't even looking at her! Or at least I wasn't until I thought that, but of course, now I was, and _oh, would you look at that? Her whole body turns red when she blushes_, or at least the parts of her body I could see, which _shit_, made me think about the parts that I couldn't see. I really did need to get out of here, for my sake and maybe for the lawyers—because I was sure after this there would definitely be lawyers—but I needed to explain why I was here in the first place.

"Uh, I wanted to talk about what happened earlier and I didn't want to do it on camera." _Just look in her eyes. Look in her eyes. Look in her eyes. _

Her hand moved and my eye involuntarily followed, which now meant I looked like I was staring at her breasts even though I was really staring at her hand clasping her towel. At least I was until I thought about her breasts, and then I'm pretty sure I was staring at them, or at least where they were under the towel, and it would only be a moment before she realized that too, and then I was sure that slap was coming—

"So talk. I'm listening." She was unflappable. Her voice was strong, no nonsense, and it was enough to clear the juvenile haze that had descended on my brain.

"I may have pushed you a little harder than I intended, which I regret, but I don't do well with failure." There. I put it all on the line, forgetting my pride, explaining where I was coming from and offering my deepest apology. She couldn't miss the sincerity.

"Do well with failure? I've been here all of one day and you're already calling me a failure?!"

Or, maybe she could.

"Is this some new age training technique, Edward? Because if it's supposed to be motivating me, it's not fucking working!" There went my book dreams.

"No! I'm not calling you a failure! Jesus!" This day needed to end, now. Between Lauren and Riley earlier, Pennsyl—_Alice_ in the middle, and Bella Swan sprinkled throughout the rest of the day, tomorrow couldn't come fast enough. "Look, you're here to change your life." I was pacing now, trying to measure my words carefully to avoid another foot in mouth situation. "I assume you're here because you know Rosalie and I are good at what we do. I can guide you through this process if you'll let me. I'm paid to help you do that, but you're going to have to step up your game and stop the whining or you'll never make it past the first round." There. That should have done it. Now the ball was in her court.

"Whining? Whining?!"

She was pacing now and_, oh, hell. I give up._ She went on and on, and I tried to pay attention, but I couldn't help but be frustrated at the impasse we seemed to have reached. No matter how hard I tried, she wasn't going to hear me. I wasn't sure if she was intentionally being difficult or whether she really was missing the point of what I was saying. I caught the tail end of her words, something about not being able to do this anymore, and I decided I'd had enough. Why was I expending so much personal energy on a person who was so convinced she couldn't do it? Maybe she couldn't. I'd thought she reminded me of myself, but maybe I was wrong.

"Look, pretty boy, I get it. You're perfection personified with your rock hard body and Hollywood life." I froze—everything else she said disappeared as those words rang through my head. My life to date could have been described as many things, but _Hollywood_ was not one of them. She'd probably seen some magazine do a story on me; maybe she knew I collected cars. I didn't know what random fact she'd tucked away that had made her conclude that she could define and dismiss me so thoroughly. I'd had a lifetime of people treating me that way. It didn't matter whether they were passing judgment on the old me or the new me. She wasn't different at all. She was just like Lauren, only with a few extra pounds and real boobs.

"Don't." I collected myself, trying to make sure I didn't say anything that I would later regret.

"You don't know a damn thing about me, Bella. You think because you've seen me on TV for a few seasons that you know everything there is to know about me? You think you've got me pegged because I have a nice face and as you say, a 'rock hard body'? I would expect someone like you to know better than that."

The momentary silence was deafening, the only sound registering was the furious pounding of my heart. Maybe, after all of that, I'd finally gotten through to her.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Edward? Fat girls should know better than to judge a book by its cover? Well fuck you, Mr. Prom King. You don't know shit about me!"

Apparently, getting through to Bella Swan was an art I would not be mastering any time soon. I'd obviously said the wrong thing. Again.

She spit fire at me, her eyes flashing with fury as anger colored her face a deep shade of red. She had the nerve to call me a fucking prom king. Me—who spent prom night on the couch, draining a two liter of Coke while cramming the last of an extra-large stuffed pepperoni and cheese pizza into my 291 pound body while watching reruns of _Malcolm in the Middle_—a prom king! I'd known one prom king, a fucking prick of a kid named Tyler Crowley, and _I_ was no prom king. And then, just like that, I was right there with her; meeting her fire with fire, my eyes—green to her brown—sparking with just as much fury. Anger bubbled deep within me, thick, hot, threatening to erupt, and I was there. I was right there, so close to boiling over. And then I wasn't.

"I've been you, Bella. I was you, for too damn long and I am so fucking grateful every day that someone finally came into my life, holding a mirror up to my miserable existence, and kicking me in the ass. And even though I've worked as hard as I've worked and come as far as I've come, the journey's never over. It never fucking ends. Do you know I still look in the mirror and see every damn flaw?"

The rage that had been burning white hot tempered, the intensity waning, and _I_ was left naked as all other pretenses blew away like ashes in the wind.

"I still see the overweight kid I was for more than half of my life. But I don't make excuses. I stopped making excuses. I decided I was worth the fight, and now I do what I have to do to make myself a priority and not let my demons choke the life out of me one fat cell at a time. And you're worth it, too. But you'll never achieve anything if you don't start believing that."

I was baring my soul, sharing my anguish, offering a piece of myself to her in a way I had never done with anyone else before. I didn't know why, but I was laying my insecurities out, revealing my past and present pain, pinning her with my gaze, and imploring her to understand me, to trust me. Wonder of all wonders, I could see that she got it. Whatever confusion had tainted all of our other interactions, _this_ she got. _This_ she understood.

"Bella, you have to believe that I've got your best interest at heart. You have to know that I won't push you harder than you can handle. You have to trust me. This won't work if you don't trust me."

The air between us was charged, both of us coming down from the adrenaline high our sparring had induced. She started pacing again, biting on her bottom lip and seeming to mull over my words.

"So, Edward, is part of 'trusting you' having to deal with you bringing up embarrassing habits of mine in front of everyone?" _Embarrassing habits? What habits?_ I didn't know her well enough to know her habits. I wasn't sure what she was talking about, and I tried to flip through my mind's catalogue of our interactions to try to decode her meaning. And just like that, the moan was back. Not in person, obviously, but just as loud and as sensual as it had been the very first time I'd heard it. _What the hell was wrong with me? Christ, I really was a pervert._

"Yeah, that. I apologize for that. That was…" _a porno-worthy moan. Made me think of totally inappropriate things_, "…inappropriate. The producers let us look at some of the video entries from time to time and yours left somewhat of an impression on me…" Yeah, so not only was I a pervert, but it occurred to me I now sounded like a stalking pervert who had heard her orgasmic-like response to some kick ass cookies and could still call that response to mind some ten months later. That slap was definitely coming now.

"They were really good cookies." Or, maybe not.

"I bet," I said grinning, relieved that it seemed like I might make it out of her room with my face intact after all.

Her eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment. I didn't even try to interpret that look; she spoke again, and in true Bella fashion, confused the hell out of me.

"Earlier, in the gym and… now, you keep calling me Bella. How do you know my name?" Was she serious, or was I in the _Twilight Zone_?

"Isn't Bella your name?"

"It is, but I never told you my name and I assume all of my paperwork has me listed as Isabella, anyway. So how do you know my name?" I was still confused. Hadn't I already declared myself as the deranged stalking pervert I'd become when we were talking about her cookie episode?

"Like I said, you made an impression. I saw your audition tape and it was…different." Okay, there was the moan, and that left an impression, but in truth, there had been more than that. "I saw something in you, something that maybe you yourself haven't seen yet. You stand out, in a good way. I probably shouldn't be saying this, but I think you have a real good chance of being successful if you're selected to stay. I can't promise you you'll be picked to stay, obviously, but I don't want to see you blow that chance because you gave up before you even got started."

I cringed. I couldn't help it. I'd tried to be honest and spoke from the heart, but I seemed to have a way of saying the wrong thing when it came to her.

To my surprise though, there were no fireworks. In fact, she pretty much agreed with me. Although, even in agreeing, she still managed to hand me a piece of my ass, but I was starting to find I liked that. Who knew I had a little sadomasochist in me?

Finally on the same page (after what felt like lifetimes of trying to get there), apologies given (and seemingly accepted), I stuck out my hand for that firm handshake I'd originally shown up to get. She stepped closer, gripping her towel so tightly I was afraid one of those little blue veins in her hand might burst. She reached for my hand and when we touched her hand was softness and warmth, and more. _More? _Of the two of us, I was the one fully dressed, and yet in that moment I felt…exposed—as though she could have seen right through me. The feeling was unsettling.

I left shortly after that, my brain clouded with images, and questions and feelings I couldn't even begin to translate into coherent thoughts. So I didn't. I sprinted across to the building where my room was located, changed shoes and snatched up my iPod. I took off running, heading straight for the quiet comfort of the surrounding parkland, leaving thoughts of the infuriatingly stubborn girl who'd finally agreed to let me help her change her life behind.

I stayed away from Bella for the rest of that week, not mentioning anything about what had passed between us that first day. In the gym, where it mattered, I was relentless, constantly correcting her form, pushing her further. I was still trying to wield a softer hand, but she seemed hardwired to challenge and provoke me, and effectively rendered my efforts fruitless. We were fire and ice, though which of us was which on any given day seemed to change.

I watched her though. In the gym when she didn't think I was looking, in the kitchen as she tried her hand at making healthier meals, and even late at night when most of the farm's residents were asleep. As I'd set out for my late night run, I'd pause, sneaking glances through the door of the gym; watching as Bella, Alice, and Tex worked out late into the evening, pushing each other on, night after night.

By the time decision day rolled around, there was no doubt in my mind that I was going to keep Bella in the game. She was definitely one of the hardest workers in the group I'd been assigned, and though she continued to test my patience, she deserved her spot on the show. That didn't stop me from trying to mess with her head, calling every other pick I'd chosen first. As I stood on the stage, Lauren and Rosalie flanking my sides, the thirteen other newly minted cast members of _Big Fat Chance_ standing behind me, I called her name.

She didn't come. Instead, she stared unseeingly past where I was standing to the contestants behind me. I waited, as did the rest of her captive audience and still, nothing. _Oh, for the love of—_

"Would you prefer to go back to Washington?" She looked up, startled and confused as if she'd forgotten where she was.

"Did you say something?"

I sighed, answering her, "I want you on my team, Bella. Are you ready to take the chance?" Had I mentioned that this woman was going to be the death of me?

She slowly made her way to the stage, muttering to herself as she came. She murmured a quiet "thank you" to me as she passed, joining the other contestants.

"Well, now that everyone has finally joined us on stage," Lauren started, her plastic smile doing little to deflect the scorn in her voice, "I'd like to officially welcome you to season four of _Big_ _Fat Chance_. As always, there will be a number of twist and turns, some you and your trainers will see coming. Others that will catch you all off guard." She paused for effect, as the field of contestants, both on stage and off, exchanged whispers over what her pronouncement might mean for them.

"I'm sure each of you is grateful to be standing here." She waited for confirmation of this as the chosen contestants clapped, whistled, and cheered in excitement. "Well, get ready because when you leave this stage, you will be taking part in your very first weigh in. And for the first time in _Big Fat Chance_ history, one of you will be packing your bags and heading home…tonight." She smiled big, a genuine smile this time, "Good luck and let the games begin."

* * *

**A/N** Thank you to BelleDean for rec'ing this story on Twimpage! Thank you to everyone who's been rec'ing this story on Twitter and elsewhere.

The reviews, alerts and PMs make me insanely giddy. Thanks for taking the time to read this. I truly appreciate it.


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